A Decade of Italian Women, vol. 1 (of 2)

by Thomas Adolphus Trollope

JUST THE THING!

In the early days of her widowhood a report arose that a marriage[121] was in contemplation between the Countess of Forlì and Antonio Ordelaffi, pretender to that principality. His brother, Francesco, was dead, and he was now the sole representative of the old dynasty, which had ruled Forlì for so many centuries. The report of the probability of such a marriage arose, doubtless, from the manifest advantages derivable from such an arrangement. It has been seen how sure a thorn in the sides of the Riarii was the existence of this exiled but unforgotten family; how insecure and uneasy it rendered their hold of the principality, and how the never-ceasing intrigues and incitements of the pretenders continually kept party jealousies and hatred alive, and ever and anon burst into insurrectionary attempts, necessitating constant vigilance and severe punishments, themselves the cause of further disaffection.

All this unhappy state of things might be remedied, the unfortunate heir of a long line of princes restored to his inheritance, and a beautiful young widow very satisfactorily mated with a noble and not undistinguished cavalier (for such Antonio Ordelaffi had become as a Condottiere in the service of Venice), and everything made pleasant to all parties by this match. So thought the gossips, patrician and plebeian, in the cities of Romagna; and, accordingly, settled the matter to their own satisfaction, as gossips are wont to do in similar cases.

So much appearance of authenticity had the report assumed, and so completely had the good folk of Forlì taken for granted the truth of it, that in order not to be found behind-hand in their preparations for the festivities to ensue, when the great event should be announced, many families had prepared liveries and streamers, with the united colours of the Ordelaffi and Riarii, and staves in great numbers, similarly painted, for carrying in processions. And it was the chance discovery of some of these well-intended preparations, that first revealed to the Countess the plans which her lieges of Forlì had taken on themselves to make in her behalf.

Catherine was furious! Who had dared to speak, or to believe when spoken, so gratuitous and detestable a calumny? What had the world, and especially her own subjects, ever seen in her conduct to make them think it possible that she should sacrifice the prospects of her son to any considerations of her own tranquillity? What! she a Sforza, unite herself to an Ordelaffi, and for fear of him! She need to seek a protector, and find him in the vagabond heir of a house, whose weakness and misconduct had deservedly lost them their dominion! She would show them that her own hand was strong enough to hold the rein, ay, and the whip as well, in her City of Forlì. And now, what fool had been guilty of the insolent absurdity of painting these sticks with colours so offensively chosen?

Whereupon, cringes into the presence-chamber of the angry dame, shaking in his shoes, and with many a profound obeisance, an old acquaintance of our own—no other than gossiping Messer Leon Cobelli, musician, painter, ballet master, and historian! He, in his capacity of painter, while dreaming of festivals to be arranged, enjoyed, and afterwards chronicled by himself, had mingled those tints in so detestable mesalliance.

LEON COBELLI.

Off to the gate-house prison with him, there to meditate on the difference between scribbling his history, when his lords had enacted it, and presuming to arrange it for them beforehand.

So poor Cobelli is forthwith marched off in high dudgeon, and had awful thoughts,[122] in his anger, of condemning his liege lady to sudden and irreparable forfeiture of an immortality of glory by burning his chronicle of her deeds; but the reflection, that in that case he, Leon Cobelli, ballet-master to the court, would himself share in the condemnation, happily arrested his hand before the sacrifice was consummated.