She had now, as I think had been the case since soon after she had left her Palace, two maids in her service: the widow and Franciscan Tertiary, Benedetta Lombarda, who appears, already then as an old and valued servant, in Giuliano’s will of October 1494, and who never left Catherine till her death; and a younger, unmarried maid, either Mariola Bastarda or a certain Antonietta. Argentina del Sale, too, will have often, perhaps continually, been about Catherine, aiding her in various ways; but she will not as yet have been living under the same roof with her. As we shall find, this little perfervid and untrained intelligence became the instrument, or at least the occasion, of the introduction of the largest legendary incident into the ultimate Vita of her mistress.
X. Events of 1497.
The next year, 1497, is marked by two events, of all but contradictory import and effect.
1. Birth of Tommasina (Battista) Vernazza.
On April 15 Vernazza’s first child, a daughter, is born; and Catherine is her God-mother and holds her at the Font. Dottore Tommaso Moro, a learned lawyer friend of Ettore, is the God-father, and the child is given his name and is called Tommasina. What would Catherine have felt or said had she foreseen the vicissitudes—they will occupy us in due course—through which this, her fellow God-parent, was to pass, during the storms of that Religious Revolution which were to break out so soon after her death? She would, we may be sure, have at all events been glad at the action and influence of her God-daughter towards and upon her God-father, in those sad and most difficult times.
2. Giuliano’s death.
And Giuliano was gravely ill ever since the beginning of the year, if not before; and some time in August or September he died.[125] He had been suffering long from a chronic and most painful illness; and towards the end, “he became very impatient; and Catherine, fearful lest he should lose his soul, withdrew into another chamber, and there cried aloud for his salvation unto her tender Love, ever repeating with tears and sighs these words alone: ‘O Love, I demand this soul of Thee; I beg Thee, give it me, for indeed Thou canst do so.’ And having persevered thus for about half-an-hour with many a plaint, she was given at last an interior assurance of having been heard. And returning to her husband, she found him all changed and peaceful in his ways, and giving clear indications, both by words and signs, that he was fully resigned to the will of God.” And “some time after his death she said to a spiritual son of hers,” no doubt Vernazza: “‘My son, Messer Giuliano has gone; and you know well that he was of a somewhat wayward nature, whence I suffered much mental pain. But my tender Love, before that he passed from this Life, certified me of his salvation.’ And Catherine, having spoken these words, showed signs of regret at having uttered them; and he was discreet and did not answer this remark of hers, but turned the conversation to other topics.”[126] At all events this conversation is thoroughly authentic, and Catherine’s reserve, and her regret at having somewhat broken through her usual restraint, are profoundly characteristic: the contributors to and redactors of her Life have been increasingly blind, or even opposed, to all such beautifully spontaneous and human little shynesses and regrets for momentary indiscretions.
3. Giuliano’s Will.
Giuliano had, by his Will of the 20th October 1494, ordered his body to be buried in the Hospital Church; and this was now carried out by Catherine. A vault of some dimensions must have been made or bought, since later both she herself and Argentina del Sale declared their wish to be buried in Giuliano’s “monument.” Perhaps the wish of the latter was carried out.
But Giuliano had left two far more important and difficult matters to the management of Catherine,—matters which, indeed, were respectively full of pain and of anxiety for her,—Thobia, and his share in the Island of Scios. As to Thobia, he had left £500 to the Protectors of the Hospital, among which were reckoned £200 which he had already paid them through his late mother, Thobia Adorna, for the keep of this daughter of his, and had warmly recommended her to their kind care; and had arranged, in case they refused this responsibility, that Thobia (who must by now have been quite twenty-six years of age) should be regularly paid the interest on this money. He also left to Catherine, for payment to “a certain person in Religion,”—possibly a member of a Third Order, and whose identity is carefully concealed, but who cannot fail to be Thobia’s mother—“£150, in repayment of the same sum, borrowed from her by himself and the said Catherine,”—money which this poor mother will have spent on the child’s keep, up to the time when Giuliano told his story to Catherine.