V
In the days when they were talking of men, women, and manners at Urbino, and the brilliant Bembo was writing high-flown letters about literature and celestial love to Lucrezia Borgia, or discoursing upon the same themes, in the intervals of many graver ones, at Ferrara, and Alexander VI was making the society of Rome as wicked as he knew how, which was very wicked indeed, Isabella d’Este, wife of the Marquis of Mantua, was the central figure of one of the most charming and intellectual courts in Italy. This “noble-minded Isabel,” of whom Ariosto says,
I know not well if she more fair
May be entitled, or more chaste and sage,
carried with her to the banks of the Mincio, already made classic as the birthplace of Vergil, the literary tastes which had been nurtured in the scholarly air of Ferrara. We have seen her developing as a child under the care of the wise Leonora. At six she astonished the envoy sent to arrange her betrothal, by her precocious intelligence, engaging conversation, and graceful manners. It was a kindly fate that led her to the court of the Gonzagas, which was famous for the learning and culture of its women.
Of all the princesses who shed such luster on this period she had, perhaps, the most personal distinction. To the wisdom and force of her mother she added more esprit and a warmer temperament. In tact, dignity, learning, and the virtues of a well-poised character, she did not surpass her husband’s sister, the much-loved Duchess Elisabetta of Urbino, but she seems to have had more native brilliancy of intellect. Living from 1474 to 1525, she was brought into familiar contact with the most famous men and women of the golden age of the Renaissance, and played an important part in many of its stormy crises, but, under all conditions, one is impressed with her strong individuality, her versatility, her intrepid spirit, and her unfailing charm. She combined the tenderness of a woman with the mental vigor of a man. Fair, witty, gracious, and a noted beauty, she was equally at home discussing art and literature with the masters, and grave political problems with popes and kings, arranging fêtes, ordering a picture, selecting a brocade, or playing with a child.
The old and imposing palace of Mantua to this day shows traces of the taste and generosity of its most distinguished mistress. She filled it with rare books, exquisite tapestries, and curios of all sorts, chosen with the discrimination of a connoisseur. Its walls were decorated with the masterpieces of Correggio, Mantegna, Perugino, and other great artists whom she was proud to call her friends. Chief among those in whose conversation she delighted were Titian and Leonardo da Vinci, who immortalized her. A living portrait by the latter is still one of the treasures of the Louvre. Her keen critical taste was quick to divine intrinsic values, and she was always on the alert for fresh talent to add to the glories of her little court. It was not rich, and we find her troubled at the prospect of entertaining her sister’s magnificent husband, Lodovico Sforza, who proposed to visit her with a retinue of a thousand or so. But her money went freely for everything pertaining to matters of intellect and taste. She sent her agents in all directions, even to the far East, and a new-found statue, a rare bit of tapestry, or a precious mosaic was an event of joy. Her own teeming imagination was full of pictures, and she liked to suggest themes to artists, which were not always easy to put into living form. But her sympathetic and intelligent enthusiasm was in itself an inspiration.
This critical, art-loving Isabella, however, was more than a dilettante. Her heart went out to every form of suffering. Running over with kindness, and always ready to help the needy and deserving, her sympathies sometimes got the better of her judgment, and more than once she had to regret enlisting her friends in the cause of the unworthy. This generous quality was a part of her rich temperament. With her intellectual tastes, and the many cares and responsibilities of her position, she was no grave and cold Minerva. We find her everywhere entering into the sports and gaieties of her age with the zest of a woman abounding in spirit, vitality, and the joy of life. When she went to see her sister at Milan, she rode, danced, hunted, made impromptu verses, dazzled her friends with flashes of wit, and fascinated old and young alike with her winning, lively ways. Her powerful brother-in-law was always glad to consult her on serious questions of State, as well as on his vast plans for making a beautiful and artistic city. The things that were shaping themselves in the minds of great artists appealed to her ardent imagination. “This is the school of the master and of those who know, the home of art and understanding,” she wrote from there.
Her letters to her family are always full of vivacity, clear and to the point, but glowing with affection. The friendships she inspired were devoted, even passionate. “It seems as if I had lost not only a tenderly loved sister, but a part of myself,” wrote the Duchess Elisabetta, after one of her visits. “I long to write to you every hour.... If I could clearly express to you my grief, I am sure it would have so much force that compassion would bring you back.” In such a spirit these women wrote to one another. The Latin race is effusive, and the art of expression, which is its supreme gift, no doubt often ran ahead of the feeling or the thought; but these familiar letters bear the stamp of sincerity and help us to know the manner of woman that wrote them.
This noble lady of so many gifts and graces was born to lead and not to follow. She could take the affairs of government on occasion, and was amply fitted to rule firmly and wisely. Her first aim was to win the love of her people, which, she says, is of “more value to a State than all its fortresses, treasures, and men-at-arms.” When her husband had matters to settle that required delicate diplomacy, he sent her on a special embassy to the Vatican, where the Pope loaded her with honors and had Bibbiena’s new comedy, “Calandra,” played for her entertainment. A helpful wife was this queen of the Renaissance, and no one knew it better than her husband, whose profession was war, which often led him far from the court she had made so famous. Perhaps she had a trace of pardonable vanity. She deferred a visit to Venice because she did not care to have her modest train brought into so close a contrast with the imposing splendors of the “little sister” whom she loved but did not attempt to rival on her own ground. The glories she most sought were of the intellect and not to be bought with money.
The distinctive quality she impressed upon her court was an artistic one. Its art treasures were of the choicest, and the best plays, classical or modern, were brought out there. Music was her passion. She sang well herself, also played the lute and viol. In the days before Palestrina had opened a new world of harmony, she maintained one of the finest orchestras in Italy. No gifted musician ever appealed to her in vain. But there was no field of thought in her time which she did not explore. If her knowledge was not profound, it was wide, and she looked at things largely from a human point of view, not superficially, but sympathetically. She applied her intelligence and her talents not only to the advancement of the fine arts, to the cultivation of the best in literature, to the interests of her people, but to the art of living with due regard for one’s duties and responsibilities to the future as well as to the present. If Vittoria Colonna represents the highest thought of her age as applied to things spiritual and literary, Isabella d’Este is a living example of its finest mundane side. No one better illustrates the power and the penetrating fragrance of a strong and vivid personality. It is a type that has many imitators, but such a gift, which is an assemblage of many gifts, cannot be copied.
A court dominated by so rare a spirit, and attracting all the refinement, talent, and intelligence of a brilliant age, could not be otherwise than luminous. We have no record of its conversations, but we know that its standards were high, and that the best passports of admission there were achievements of the intellect. Rank no doubt had its place, and manners were indispensable, but to genius and learning much was forgiven. Purely material splendors had small weight. Some of its princes had left traditions of culture, but it was a woman of intellect, force, independence, and charm who gathered these into a society that proved a center of light which shone brightly on after generations.