From an age too prolific in parasitical literature and in shameless morals, there has descended to us a name radiant with genius, and unsullied in reputation. The historian of Urbino may contribute a leaf to the garland which fame has hung upon the brows of Vittoria Colonna,[*169] for her mother was a princess of Montefeltro, and to her maternal ancestry she seems indebted for her heritage of talent. She was daughter of Fabrizio Colonna, by Agnesina daughter of Duke Federigo of Urbino, and was born in 1490. When but four years old she was betrothed, in conformity with the usage of her times, to a mere infant. Yet her marriage may be deemed fortunate, for her husband, Ferdinando Francesco Marquis of Pescara, was not only a cadet of the very ancient house of Avalos, which had accompanied Alfonzo of Aragon from Spain to Naples, and had married the heiress of Aquino and Pescara in the Abruzzi, but, among the warriors of an era still fertile in heroes, none was more early distinguished or promoted. He died prematurely at thirty-three, while in command of the imperial troops. His consort, imitating her grandmother Battista Sforza, had learned to console the childless solitude of his prolonged absences by habits of study, and in them found resource amid the bereavements of a widowhood which no offer of marriage could tempt her to infringe. But though she sought not the world or its incense, her high rank, wealth, and personal graces, gained many an admirer, whilst the elevated beauty of her poetry, the charms of her conversation and correspondence, attracted to her the respectful adoration of the learned. She cherished her husband's memory with rare constancy, modifying grief by spiritual solace. In her piety there was neither blind superstition nor cold formality. Devotional exercises and religious intercourse shared her hours with poetry and literature tinged by their influence, and among her most welcome visitors were some of those Italian divines who favoured the Reformation. On this account she has been claimed as a convert to protestantism, but upon insufficient grounds. She adhered apparently to the faith of her fathers, and was spared by a timely death, in 1547, from witnessing the persecutions undergone by her friends of the new creed.[*170] Among those to whom the sympathies of genius and piety united her was Michael Angelo, who testified his respect by a visit to her death-bed, and his regret by a touching sonnet to her memory.[*171] Not less gratifying was the tribute to her worth which Ariosto has embalmed in seven stanzas of the Furioso, canto xxxvii.:—
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"One will choose, and such will choose, that she All envy shall so well have overthrown, No other woman can offended be, If, passing others, her I praise alone; No joys this one but immortality, Through her sweet style, and better know I none." |
Of her writings few remain, and these but fugitive pieces.[*172] We are happy in being able to make our readers acquainted with them through the graceful translations of the late Mr. Glassford, selecting three sonnets in which she tenderly alludes to the blight of her widowhood, mildly inculcates the cloisters' quiet, and clothes in glowing language orisons of holiest fervour.
I.
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"Methinks the sun his wonted beam denies, Nor lends such radiance to his sister's car; Methinks each planet mild, and lovely star, Has left its sweet course in the spangled skies. Fallen is the heart of noble enterprise, True glory perished and the pride of war; All grace and every virtue perished are, The leaf is withered and the floweret dies. Unmoved I am, though heaven and earth invite, Warmed by no ray nor fanned if zephyr blow; All offices of nature are deranged: Since the bright sun that cheered me vanished so, The courses of the world have quite been changed; Ah no! but sorrow veils them from my sight." |
II.
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"If those delights which from the living well Above are dropped into the heart contrite Were also visible, and others might Know what great peace with love divine can dwell, Perhaps it would be then less hard to tell Why fame and fortune have been counted light, And how the wisest men transported quite Would take their cross and seek the mountain cell, Finding that death-sweet life; and not alone In prospect, but now also while the blind And erring world from the shadows will not cease. When the awakened soul to God has flown With humble will to what He wills inclined, Then outward war to such is inward peace." |
III.