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Chapter XXVIIChapter XXVII
Chapter XXVII
It has already occurred to us more than once to make mention of the war
which was at this time raging, for the succession to the states of the Duke
Vincenzo Gonzaga, the second of that name; but it has always occurred in a
moment of great haste, so that we have never been able to give more than a
cursory hint of it. Now, however, for the due understanding of our narrative,
a more particular notice of it is required. They are matters which any one who
knows anything of history must be acquainted with; but as, from a just
estimate of ourselves, we must suppose that this work can be read by none but
the ignorant, it will not be amiss that we should here relate as much as will
suffice to give some idea of them to those who need it.
We have said that on the death of this duke, the first in the line of
succession, Carlo Gonzaga, head of a younger branch now established in France,
where he possessed the duchies of Nevers and Rhetel, had entered upon the
possession of Mantua, and we may now add, of Monferrat: for our haste made us
leave this name on the point of the pen. The Spanish minister, who was
resolved at any compromise (we have said this too) to exclude the new prince
from these two fiefs, and who, to exclude him, wanted some pretext (because
wars made without any pretext would be unjust), had declared himself the
upholder of the claims which another Gonzaga Ferrante, prince of the
Guastalla, pretended to have upon Mantua; and Carlo Emanuele I., duke of
Savoy, and Margherita Gonzaga, duchess dowager of Lorraine, upon Monferrat.
Don Gonzalo, who was of the family of the great commander, and bore his name,
who had already made war in Flanders, and was extremely anxious to bring one
into Italy, was perhaps the person who made most stir that this might be
undertaken: and in the mean while, interpreting the intentions, and
anticipating the orders of the above - named minister, he concluded a treaty
with the Duke of Savory for the invasion and partition of Monferrat; and
afterwards readily obtained a ratification of it from the Count Duke, by
persuading him that the acquisition of Casale would be very easy, which was
the most strongly defended point of the portion assigned to the King of Spain.
He protested, however, in the king`s name, against any intention of occupying
the country further than under the name of a deposit, until the sentence of
the Emperor should be declared; who, partly from the influence of others,
partly from private motives of his own, had, in the mean while, denied the
investiture to the new duke, and intimated to him that he should give up to
him in sequestration the controverted states: afterwards, having heard the
different sides, he would restore them to him who had the best claim. To these
conditions the Duke of Nevers would not consent.
He had, however, friends of some eminence in the Cardinal de Richelieu,
the Venetian noblemen, and the Pope. But the first of these, at that time
engaged in the siege of La Rochelle, and in a war with England, and thwarted
by the party of the queen - mother, Maria de` Medici, who, for certain reasons
of her own, was opposed to the house of Nevers, could give nothing but hopes.
The Venetians would not stir, nor even declare themselves in his favour,
unless a French army were first brought into Italy; and while secretly aiding
the duke as they best could, they contented themselves with putting off the
Court of Madrid and the Governor of Milan with protests, propositions, and
peaceable or threatening admonitions, according to circumstances. Urban VIII.
recommended Nevers to his friends, interceded in his favour with his enemies,
and designed projects of accommodation; but would not hear a word of sending
men into the field.
By this means the two confederates for offensive measures were enabled
the more securely to begin their concerted operations. Carlo Emanuele invaded
Monferrat from his side; Don Gonzalo willingly laid siege to Casale, but did
not find in the undertaking all the satisfaction he had promised himself: for
it must not be imagined that war is a rose without a thorn. The Court did not
provide him with nearly all the means he demanded; his ally, on the contrary,
assisted him too much: that is to say, after having taken his own portion, he
went on to take that which was assigned to the King of Spain. Don Gonzalo was
enraged beyond expression; but fearing that, if he made any noise about it,
this duke, as active in intrigues and fickle in treaty, as bold and valiant in
arms, would revolt to the French, he was obliged to shut his eyes to it, gnaw
the bit, and put on a satisfied air. The siege, besides, went on badly, being
protracted to a great length, and sometimes thrown back, owing to the steady,
cautious, and resolute behaviour of the besieged, the lack of sufficient
numbers on the part of the besiegers, and, according to the report of some
historian, the many false steps taken by Don Gonzalo; on which point we leave
truth to choose her own side, being inclined even, were it really so, to
consider it a very happy circumstance, if it were the cause that in this
enterprise there were some fewer than usual slain, beheaded, or wounded; and,
caeteris paribus, rather fewer tiles injured in Casale. In the midst of these
perplexities, the news of the sedition at Milan arrived, to the scene of which
he repaired in person.
Here, in the report which was given him, mention was also made of the
rebellious and clamorous flight of Renzo, and of the real or supposed doings
which had been the occasion of his arrest; and they could also inform him that
this person had taken refuge in the territory of Bergamo. This circumstance
arrested Don Gonzalo`s attention. He had been informed from another quarter,
that great interest had been felt at Venice in the insurrection at Milan; that
they had supposed he would be obliged on this account to abandon the siege of
Casale; and that they imagined he was reduced to great despondency and
perplexity about it: the more so, as shortly after this event, the tidings had
arrived, so much desired by these noblemen, and dreaded by himself, of the
surrender of La Rochelle. Feeling considerably annoyed, both as a man and a
politician, that they should entertain such an opinion of his proceedings, he
sought every opportunity of undeceiving them, and persuading them, by
induction, that he had lost none of his former boldness; for to say,
explicitly, I have no fear, is just to say nothing. One good plan is to show
displeasure, to complain, and to expostulate: accordingly, the Venetian
ambassador having waited upon him to pay his respects, and at the same time to
read in his countenance and behaviour how he felt within, Don Gonzalo, after
having spoken lightly of the tumult, like a man who had already provided a
remedy for everything, made those complaints about Renzo which the reader
already knows; as he is also acquainted with what resulted from them in
consequence. From that time, he took no further interest in an affair of so
little importance, which, as far as he was concerned, was terminated; and
when, a long time afterwards, the reply came to him at the camp at Casale,
whither he had returned, and where he had very different things to occupy his
mind, he raised and threw back his head, like a silkworm searching for a leaf;
reflected for a moment, to recall more clearly to his memory a fact of which
he only retained a shadowy idea; remembered the circumstance, had a vague and
momentary recollection of the person; passed on to something else, and thought
no more about it.
But Renzo, who, from the little which he had darkly comprehended, was far
from supposing so benevolent an indifference, had, for a time, no other
thought, or rather, to speak more correctly, no other care, than to keep
himself concealed. It may be imagined whether he did not ardently long to send
news of himself to the women, and receive some from them in exchange; but
there were two great difficulties in the way. One was, that he also would have
been forced to trust to an amanuensis, for the poor fellow knew not how to
write, nor even read, in the broad sense of the word; and if, when asked the
question, as the reader may perhaps remember, by the Doctor Azzecca -
Garbugli, he replied in the affirmative, it was not, certainly, a boast, a
mere bravado, as they say; it was the truth, that he could manage to read
print, when he could take his time over it: writing, however, was a different
thing. He would be obliged, then, to make a third party the depositary of his
affairs, and of a secret so jealously guarded: and it was not easy in those
times to find a man who could use his pen, and in whom confidence could be
placed, particularly in a country where he had no old acquaintances. The other
difficulty was to find a bearer; a man who was going just to the place he
wanted, who would take charge of the letter, and really recollect to deliver
it; all these, too, qualifications rather difficult to be met with in one
individual.
At length, by dint of searching and sounding, he found somebody to write
for him; but ignorant where the women were, or whether they were still at
Monza, he judged it better to enclose the letter directed to Agnese under
cover to Father Cristoforo, with a line or two also for him. The writer
undertook the charge, moreover, of forwarding the packet, and delivered it to
one who would pass not far from Pescarenico; this person left it with many
strict charges, at an inn on the road, at the nearest point to the monastery;
and, as it was directed to a convent, it reached this destination; but what
became of it afterwards was never known. Renzo, receiving no reply, sent off a
second letter, nearly like the first, which he enclosed in another to an
acquaintance or distant relation of his at Lecco. He sought for another
bearer, and found one; and this time the letter reached the person to whom it
was addressed. Agnese posted off to Maggianico, had it read and interpreted to
her by her cousin Alessio; concerted with him a reply, which he put down in
writing for her, and found means of sending it to Antonio Rivolta in his
present place of abode: all this, however, not quite so expeditiously as we
have recounted it. Renzo received the reply, and in time sent an answer to it.
In short, a correspondence was set on foot between the two parties, neither
frequent nor regular, but still kept up by starts, and at intervals.
To form some idea, however, of this correspondence, it is necessary to
know a little how such things went on in those days - indeed, how they go on
now; for in this particular, I believe, there is little or no variation.
The peasant who knows not how to write, and finds himself reduced to the
necessity of communicating his ideas to the absent, has recourse to one who
understands the art, taking him, as far as he can, from among those of his own
rank, - for, with others, he is either shamefaced, or afraid to trust them; he
informs them, with more or less order and perspicuity, of past events; and in
the same manner, describes to him the thoughts he is to express. The man of
letters understands part, misunderstands part, gives a little advice, proposes
some variation, says, `Leave it to me;` then he takes the pen, transfers the
idea he has received, as he best can, from speaking to writing, corrects it
his own way, improves it, puts in flourishes, abbreviates, or even omits,
according as he deems most suitable for his subject; for so it is, and there
is no help for it, he who knows more than his neighbours will not be a passive
instrument in their hands; and when he interferes in other people`s affairs,
he will force them to do things his own way. In addition to all this, it is
not always quite a matter of course that the above - named literate himself
expresses all that he intended; nay, sometimes it happens just the reverse, as
indeed, it does even to us who write for the press. When the letter thus
completed reaches the hands of the correspondent, who is equally unpractised
in his a, b, c, he takes it to another learned genius of that tribe, who reads
and expounds it to him. Questions arise on the matter of understanding it,
because the person interested, presuming upon his acquaintance with the
antecedent circumstances, asserts that certain words mean such and such a
thing; the reader, resting upon his greater experience in the art of
composition, affirms that they mean another. At last, the one who does not
know, is obliged to put himself into the hands of the one who does, and trusts
to him the task of writing a reply; which, executed like the former example,
is liable to a similar style of interpretation. If, in addition, the subject
of the correspondence be a rather delicate topic, if secret matters be treated
of in it, which it is desirable should not be understood by a third party, in
case the letter should go astray; if with this view there be a positive
intention of not expressing things quite clearly, then, however, short a time
the correspondence is kept up, the parties invariably finish by understanding
each other as well as the two schoolmen who had disputed for four hours upon
abstract mutations; not to take our simile from living beings, lest we expose
ourselves to have our ears boxed.
Now, the case of our two correspondents was exactly what we have
described. The first letter written in Renzo`s name, contained many subjects.
Primarily, besides an account of the flight, by far more concise, but, at the
same time, more confused, than that which we have given, was a relation of his
actual circumstances, from which both Agnese and her interpreter were very far
from deriving any lucid or tolerably correct idea. Then he spoke of secret
intelligence, change of name, his being in safety, but still requiring
concealment; things in themselves not very familiar to their understandings,
and related in the letter rather enigmatically. Then followed warm and
impassioned inquiries about Lucia`s situation, with dark and mournful hints of
the rumours which had reached even his ears. There were, finally, uncertain
and distant hopes and plans in reference to the future; and for the present
promises and entreaties to keep their plighted faith, not to lose patience or
courage, and to wait for better days.
Some time passed away, and Agnese found a trusty messenger, to convey an
answer to Renzo, with the fifty scudi assigned to him by Lucia. At the sight
of so much gold, he knew not what to think; and, with a mind agitated by
wonder and suspense, which left no room for gratification, he set off in
search of his amanuensis, to make him interpret the letter, and find the key
to so strange a mystery.
Agnese`s scribe, after lamenting, in the letter, the want of perspicuity
in Renzo`s epistle, went on to describe, in a way at least quite as much to be
lamented, the tremendous history of that person (so he expressed himself); and
here he accounted for the fifty scudi; then he went on to speak of the vow,
employing much circumlocution in the expression of it, but adding, in more
direct and explicit terms, the advice to set his heart at rest, and think no
more about it.
Renzo very nearly quarrelled with the reader; he trembled, shuddered,
became enraged with what he had understood, and with what he could not
understand. Three or four times did he make him read over the melancholy
writing, now comprehending better, now finding what had at first appeared
clear, more and more incomprehensible. And, in this fervour of passion, he
insisted upon his amanuensis immediately taking pen in hand, and writing a
reply. After the strongest expressions imaginable of pity and horror at
Lucia`s circumstances - `Write,` pursued he, as he dictated to his secretary,
`that I won`t set my heart at rest, and that I never will; and that this is
not advice to be giving to a lad like me; and that I won`t touch the money;
that I`ll put it by, and keep it for the young girl`s dowry; that she already
belongs to me; and that I know nothing about a vow; and that I have often
heard say that the Madonna interests herself to help the afflicted, and
obtains favours for them; but that she encourages them to despise and break
their word, I never heard; and that this vow can`t hold good; and that with
this money we have enough to keep house here; and that I am somewhat in
difficulties now, it`s only a storm which will quickly pass over;` and other
similar things. Agnese received this letter also, and replied to it; and the
correspondence continued in the manner we have described.
Lucia felt greatly relieved when her mother had contrived, by some means
or other, to let her know that Renzo was alive, safe, and acquainted with her
vow, and desired nothing more than that he should forget her; or, to express
it more exactly, that he should try to forget her. She, on her part, made a
similar resolution a hundred times a day with respect to him; and employed,
too, every means she could think of to put it into effect. She continued to
work indefatigably with her needle, trying to apply her whole mind to it; and
when Renzo`s image presented itself to her view, would begin to repeat or
chant some prayers to herself. But that image, just as if it were actuated by
pure malice, did not generally come so openly; it introduced itself stealthily
behind others, so that the mind might not be aware of having harboured it,
till after it had been there for some time. Lucia`s thoughts were often with
her mother; how should it have been otherwise? and the ideal Renzo would
gently creep in as a third party, as the real person had so often done. So,
with everybody, in every place, in every remembrance of the past, he never
failed to introduce himself. And if the poor girl allowed herself sometimes to
penetrate in fancy into the obscurity of the future, there, too, he would
appear, if it were only to say: I, ten to one, shall not be there. However, if
,ot to think of him at all were a hopeless undertaking, yet Lucia succeeded up
to a certain point, in thinking less about him, and less intensely than her
heart would have wished. She would even have succeeded better, had she been
alone in desiring to do so. But there was Donna Prassede, who, bent on her
part, upon banishing the youth from her thoughts, had found no better
expedient than constantly talking about him. `Well,` she would say, `have you
given up thinking of him?`
`I am thinking of nobody,` replied Lucia.
Donna Prassede, however, not to be appeased by so evasive an answer,
replied that there must be deeds, not words; and enlarged upon the usual
practices of young girls, `who,` said she, `when they have set their hearts
upon a dissolute fellow, (and it is just to such they have a leaning), won`t
consent to be separated from them. An honest and rational contract to a worthy
man, a well - tried character, which, by some accident, happens to be
frustrated, - they are quickly resigned; but let it be a villain, and it is an
incurable wound.` And then she commenced a panegyric upon the poor absentee,
the rascal who had come to Milan to plunder the town, and massacre the
inhabitants; and tried to make Lucia confess all the knavish tricks he had
played in his own country.
Lucia, with a voice tremulous with shame, sorrow, and such indignation as
could find place in her gentle breast and humble condition affirmed and
testified that the poor fellow had done nothing in his country to give
occasion for anything but good to be said of him; `she wished,` she said,
`that someone were present from his neighbourhood, that the lady might hear
his testimony.` Even on his adventures at Milan, the particulars of which she
could not learn, she defended him merely from the knowledge she had had of him
and his behaviour, from his very childhood. She defended him, or intended to
defend him, from the simple duty of charity, from her love of truth, and, to
use just the expression by which she described her feelings to herself, as her
neighbour. But Donna Prassede drew fresh arguments from these apologies, to
convince Lucia that she had quite lost her heart to this man. And, to say the
truth, in these moments it is difficult to say how the matter stood. The
disgraceful picture the old lady drew of the poor youth, revived, from
opposition, more vividly and distinctly than ever in the mind of the young
girl, the idea which long habit had established there; the recollections she
had stifled by force, returned in crowds upon her; aversion and contempt
recalled all her old motives of esteem and sympathy, and blind and violent
hatred only excited stronger feelings of pity. With these feelings, who can
say how much there might or might not be of another affection which follows
upon them, and introduces itself so easily into the mind? Let it be imagined
what it would do in one whence it was attempted to eject it by force. However
it may be, the conversation, on Lucia`s side, was never carried to any great
length, for words were very soon resolved into tears.
Had Donna Prassede been induced to treat her in this way from some
inveterate hatred towards her, these tears might, perhaps, have vanquished and
silenced her; but as she spoke with the intention of doing good, she went on
without allowing herself to be moved by them, as groans and imploring cries
may arrest the weapons of an enemy, but not the instrument of the surgeon.
Having, however, discharged her duty for that time, she would turn from
reproaches and denunciations to exhortation and advice, sweetened also by a
little praise; thus designing to temper the bitter with the sweet, the better
to obtain her purpose, by working upon the heart under every state of feeling.
These quarrels, however, (which had always nearly the same beginning, middle,
and end), left no resentment, properly speaking, in the good Lucia`s heart
against the harsh sermonizer, who, after all, treated her, in general, very
kindly; and even in this instance, evinced a good intention. Yet they left her
in such agitation, with such a tumult of thoughts and affections, that it
required no little time, and much effort, to regain her former degree of
calmness.
It was well for her that she was not the only one to whom Donna Prassede
had to do good; for, by this means, these disputes could not occur so
frequently. Besides the rest of the family, all of whom were persons more or
less needing amendment and guidance - besides all the other occasions which
offered themselves to her, or she contrived to find, of extending the same
kind office, of her own free will, to many to whom she was under no
obligations; she had also five daughters, none of whom were at home, but who
gave her much more to think about than if they had been. Three of these were
nuns, two were married: hence Donna Prassede naturally found herself with
three monasteries and two houses to superintend; a vast and complicated
undertaking, and the more arduous, because two husbands, backed by fathers,
mothers, and brothers; three abbesses, supported by other dignitaries, and by
many nuns, would not accept her superintendence. It was a complete warfare,
alias five warfares, concealed, and even courteous, up to a certain point, but
ever active, ever vigilant. There was in every one of these places a continued
watchfulness to avoid her solicitude, to close the door against her counsels,
to elude her inquiries, and to keep her in the dark, as far as possible, on
every undertaking. We do not mention the resistance, the difficulties she
encountered in the management of other still more extraneous affairs: it is
well known that one must generally do good to men by force. The place where
her zeal could best exercise itself, and have full play, was in her own house:
here everybody was subject in everything, and for everything, to her
authority, saving Don Ferrante, with whom things went on in a manner entirely
peculiar.
A man of studious turn, he neither loved to command nor obey. In all
household matters, his wife was the mistress, with his free consent; but he
would not submit to be her slave. And if, when requested, he occasionally lent
her the assistance of his pen, it was because it suited his taste; and after
all, he knew how to say no, when he was not convinced of what she wished him
to write. `Use your own sense,` he would say, in such cases; `do it yourself,
since it seems so clear to you.` Donna Prassede, after vainly endeavouring for
some time to induce him to recant, and do what she wanted, would be obliged to
content herself with murmuring frequently against him, with calling him one
who hated trouble, a man who would have his own way, and a scholar: a title
which, though pronounced with contempt, was generally mixed with a little
complacency.
Don Ferrante passed many hours in his study, where he had a considerable
collection of books, scarcely less than three hundred volumes: all of them
choice works, and the most highly esteemed on their numerous several subjects,
in each of which he was more or less versed. In astrology, he was deservedly
considered as more than a dilettante; for he not only possessed the generical
notions and common vocabulary of influences, aspects, and conjunctions; but he
knew how to talk very aptly, and as it were ex cathedra, of the twelve houses
of the heavens, of the great circles, of lucid and obscure degrees, of
exultation and dejection, of transitions and revolutions - in short, of the
most assured and most recondite principles of the science. And it was for
perhaps twenty years that he maintained, in long and frequent disputes, the
system of Cardano against another learned man who was staunchly attached to
that of Alcabizio, from mere obstinacy, as Don Ferrante said; who, readily
acknowledging the superiority of the ancients, could not, however, endure that
unwillingness to yield to the moderns, even when they evidently have reason on
their side. He was also more than indifferently acquainted with the history of
the science; he could, on an occasion, quote the most celebrated predictions
which had been verified, and reason clearly and learnedly on other celebrated
predictions which had failed, showing that the fault was not in the science,
but in those who knew not how to apply it.
He had learnt as much of ancient philosophy as might have sufficed him,
but still went on acquiring more from the study of Diogenes Laertius. As,
however, these systems, how beautiful soever they may be, cannot all be held
at once; and as, to be a philosopher, it is necessary to choose an author, so
Don Ferrante had chosen Aristotle, who, he used to say, was neither ancient
nor modern; he was the philosopher, and nothing more. He possessed also
various works of the wisest and most ingenious disciples of that school among
the moderns: those of its impugners he would never read, not to throw away
time, as he said; nor buy, not to throw away money. Surely, by way of
exception, did he find room in his library for those celebrated two - and -
twenty volumes De Subtilitate, and for some other antiperipatetic work of
Cardano`s, in consideration of his value in astrology. He said, that he who
could write the treatise De Restitutione temporum et motuum coelestium, and
the book Duodecim geniturarum, deserved to be listened to even when he erred;
that the great defect of this man was, that he had too much talent; and that
no one could conceive what he might have arrived at, even in philosophy, had
he kept himself in the right way. In short, although, in the judgment of the
learned, Don Ferrante passed for a consummate peripatetic, yet he did not deem
that he knew enough about it himself; and more than once he was obliged to
confess, with great modesty, that essence, universals, the soul of the world,
and the nature of things, were not so very clear as might be imagined.
He had made a recreation rather than a study of natural philosophy; the
very works of Aristotle on this subject he had rather read than studied: yet,
with this slight perusal, with the notices incidentally gathered from
treatises on general philosophy, with a few cursory glances at ths Magia
naturale of Porta, at the three histories, lapidum, animalium, plantarum, of
Cardano, at the treatise on herbs, plants, and animals, by Albert Magnus, and
a few other works of less note, he could entertain a party of learned men, for
a while, with dissertations on the most wonderful virtues and most remarkable
curiosities of many medicinal herbs; he could minutely describe the forms and
habits of sirens and the solitary phoenix; and explain how the salamander
exists in the fire without burning; how the remora, that diminutive fish, has
strength and ability completely to arrest a ship of any size in the high seas;
how drops of dew become pearls in the shell; how the chameleon feeds on air;
how ice, by being gradually hardened, is formed into crystal, in the course of
time; with many other of the most wonderful secrets of nature.
Into those of magic and witchcraft he had penetrated still more deeply,
as it was a science, says our anonymous author, much more necessary and more
in vogue in those days, in which the facts were of far higher importance, and
it was more within reach to verify them. It is unnecessary to say that he had
no other object in view in such a study, than to inform himself, and to become
acquainted with the very worst arts of the sorcerers, in order that he might
guard against them and defend himself. And, by the guidance principally of the
great Martino Delrio (a leader of the science), he was capable of discoursing
ex professo upon the fascination of love, the fascination of sleep, the
fascination of hatred, and the infinite varieties of these three principal
genuses of enchantment, which are only too often, again says our anonymous
author, beheld in practice at the present day, attended by such lamentable
effects.
Not less vast and profound was his knowledge of history, particularly
universal history, in which his authors were Tarcagnota, Dolce, Bugatti,
Campana, and Guazzo; in short, all the most highly esteemed.
`But what is history,` said Don Ferrante, frequently, `without politics?
- A guide who walks on and on, with no one following to learn the road, and
who consequently throws away his steps; as politics without history is one who
walks without a guide.` There was therefore a place assigned to statistics on
his shelves; where, among many of humbler rank and less renown, appeared, in
all their glory, Bedino, Cavalcanti, Sansovino, Paruta, and Boccalini. There
were two books, however, which Don Ferrante infinitely preferred above all
others on this subject; two which, up to a certain time, he used to call the
first, without ever being able to decide to which of the two this rank should
exclusively belong: one was the Principe and Discorsi of the celebrated
Florentine secretary; `a great rascal, certainly,` said Don Ferrante, `but
profound`: the other, the Ragion di Stato of the no less celebrated Giovanni
Botero; `an honest man, certainly,` said he again, `but shrewd.` Shortly
after, however, just at the period which our story embraces, a work came to
light which terminated the question of pre - eminence, by surpassing the works
of even these two Matadores, said Don Ferrante; a book in which was enclosed
and condensed every trick of the system, that it might be known, and every
virtue, that it might be practised; a book of small dimensions, but all of
gold; in one word, the Statista Regnante of Don Valeriano Castiglione, that
most celebrated man, of whom it might be said that the greatest scholars
rivalled each other in sounding his praises, and the greatest personages in
trying to rob him of them; that man, whom Pope Urban VIII. honoured, as is
well known, with magnificent encomiums; whom the Cardinal Borghese and the
Viceroy of Naples, Don Pietro di Toledo, entreated to relate, - one, the
doings of Pope Paul V., the other, the wars of his Catholic Majesty in Italy,
and both in vain; that man, whom Louis XIII. King of France, at the suggestion
of Cardinal de Richelieu, nominated his historiographer; on whom Duke Carlo
Emanuele, of Savoy, conferred the same office; in praise of whom, not to
mention other lofty testimonials, the Duchess Cristina, daughter of the most
Christian King Henry IV., could, in a diploma, among many other titles,
enumerate `the certainty of the reputation he is obtaining in Italy of being
the first writer of our times.`
But if, in all the above - mentioned sciences, Don Ferrante might be
considered a learned man, one there was in which he merited and enjoyed the
title of Professor - the science of chivalry. Not only did he argue on it in a
really masterly manner, but, frequently requested to interfere in affairs of
honour, always gave some decision. He had in his library, and one may say,
indeed, in his head, the works of the most renowned writers on this subject:
Paris del Pozzo, Fausto da Longiano, Urrea, Muzio, Romei, Albergato, the first
and second Forno of Torquato Tasso, of whose other works, `Jerusalem
Delivered,` as well as `Jerusalem Taken,` he had ever in readiness, and could
quote from memory, on occasion, all the passages which might serve as a text
on the subject of chivalry. The author, however, of all authors, in his
estimation, was our celebrated Francesco Birago, with whom he was more than
once associated in giving judgment on cases of honour; and who, on his side,
spoke of Don Ferrante in terms of particular esteem. And from the time that
the Discorsi Cavallereschi of this renowned writer made their appearance, he
predicted, without hesitation, that this work would destroy the authority of
Olevano, and would remain, together with its other noble sisters, as a code of
primary authority among posterity: and every one may see, says our anonymous
author, how this prediction has been verified.
From this he passes on to the study of belles lettres; but we begin to
doubt whether the reader has really any great wish to go forward with us in
this review, and even to fear that we may already have won the title of
servile copyist for ourselves, and that of a bore, to be shared with the
anonymous author, for having followed him out so simply, even thus far, into a
subject foreign to the principal narrative, and in which, probably, he was
only so diffuse, for the purpose of parading erudition, and showing that he
was not behind his age. However, leaving written what is written, that we may
not lose our labour, we will omit the rest to resume the thread of our story:
the more willingly, as we have a long period to traverse without meeting with
any of our characters, and a longer still, before finding those in whose
success the reader will be most interested, if anything in the whole story has
interested him at all.
Until the autumn of the following year, 1629, they all remained, some
willingly, some by force, almost in the state in which we left them, nothing
happening to any one, and no one doing anything worthy of being recorded. The
autumn at length approached, in which Agnese and Lucia had counted upon
meeting again; but a great public event frustrated that expectation: and this
certainly was one of its most trifling effects. Other great events followed,
which, however, made no material change in the destinies of our characters. At
length, new circumstances, more general, more influential, and more extensive,
reached even to them, - even to the lowest of them, according to the world`s
scale. It was like a vast, sweeping, and irresistible hurricane, which,
uprooting trees, tearing off roots, levelling battlements, and scattering
their fragments in every direction, stirs up the straws hidden in the grass,
pries into every corner for the light and withered leaves, which a gentler
breeze would only have lodged there more securely, and bears them off in its
headlong course of fury.
Now, that the private events which yet remain for us to relate may be
rendered intelligible, it will be absolutely necessary for us, even here, to
promise some kind of account of these public ones, and thus make a still
further digression.
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