She had scarcely grown to her full height, and left off being sent early to bed, when she was given in marriage to Vespasiano Colonna, Duke of Trajetto. He was forty, and crippled with the rheumatism, yet her parents thought it a suitable match. They told her he was good, generous, and indulgent, and so he proved. She liked him. She liked pleasing him, and tending him, and receiving his pleasant praises and smiles. He had a daughter by a former marriage, rather younger than herself, and he wished them to be friends; but Isabella was of a colder nature than Giulia. The Duke had a singular feeling towards his little bride. She was so good, so pure, that he shrank from her being contaminated by the pernicious influence of Italian society, such as it was in the sixteenth century, and resolved to seclude her from it as much as he could in the retirement which his infirm health rendered so grateful. But he did more than this, for he resolved that her mind should receive the highest culture, and thus possess resources in itself which should make retirement happy. And as he was a man of good parts and delightful conversation, affectionate, indulgent, and quietly humorous, it is not at all surprising, I think, that he captivated this young girl, and made her really love him.
This rendered more than tolerable her attendance on him as a nurse. He would not let her do anything really painful or wearisome, took care that she should have plenty of open-air exercise, and won her admiration of his patience and cheerfulness during his tedious decline.
When he died, in the year 1528, he left Giulia mistress of all his possessions in the Campagna, the Abruzzi, and the kingdom of Naples, and guardian of Isabella, whom he designed for the wife of Ippolito de' Medici, nephew of Pope Clement the Seventh.
Giulia soon felt the want of a male protector, for two of the Duke's kinsmen, Ascanio di Colonna and Napoleone Orsini, laid claim to the estates. The Pope substantiated her right to them, and the Emperor Charles the Fifth, then a young man of eight-and-twenty, commissioned her brother, Don Luigi, to put her in possession. Luigi, who was a brilliant soldier, paid his sister a hasty visit at Fondi; and before he left it, he and Isabella exchanged secret vows of affection.
When Ippolito de' Medici, with youth, good looks, and noble bearing to recommend him, was sent by the Pope to woo and win Isabella, he found the Duchess much more attractive; and when she remarked one day on something strange in his conduct, he spoke out at once, and said—
"Giulia, I care nothing for her—and I cannot but care for you!"
Thereon the Duchess was much offended, and said she should write to the Pope. Ippolito very stoutly refused to own himself at all wrong. Giulia's widowhood, he averred, had been long enough for the world to suppose that her hand might be sued for. The Pope would be well pleased to see him win the daughter, but infinitely more so at his obtaining the mother. Giulia very indignantly replied that no Pope on earth had, or should have, power to make her marry again, against her will. She was a free agent; she respected and cherished the memory of her dear Duke too much ever to give him a successor. The amaranth was her chosen emblem, and "Non moritura" her motto.
Ippolito here ventured to murmur something about disparity of years, which she instantly checked as the height of disrespect; and he then said all that could be said by a very clever man, really and deeply, and honestly in love; but the more he said, the less Giulia minded him, for the idea had possessed itself of her mind that he might not have found her so pre-eminently attractive but for the thirteen thousand ducats which her good Duke had added to her dowry of four thousand immediately after their marriage. Besides, she was extremely sensitive to the opinion of "everybody," and she pictured what "everybody" could say, if, after inviting Ippolito to her castle as the suitor of her step-daughter, she were to marry him herself. Moreover, she did not like the Medici; they were wonderfully clever, but they were not good. Volti sciolti, pensieri stretti—she would rather not trust her happiness to any one of them. Or to any one. Why should not she continue, free and happy as she was?
So Ippolito found her impenetrable to the most insinuating words and melting tones; and as she found him equally impracticable on the subject of being faithful, as she called it, to Isabella, though he denied having pledged any faith to her at all, Giulia told him very plainly she wished he would end his visit; which he, much hurt, said he would do. And his farewell bow was as stiff and stately as if he were an unsuccessful envoy to a warlike sovereign; and he went away without any leave-taking of Isabella.