“You have frequently, most reverend father, exhorted me, both in conversation and by letter, to adopt some settled course of life. I have at length followed your advice. Two plans were proposed to my consideration: to enter into the priesthood, or to pursue some secular concern—To the ecclesiastical profession I always entertained an invincible objection—I disliked solitude; and therefore, being determined to enter upon civil life, I turned my mind to matrimony. I do not deny that the clerical life is by many esteemed more peaceable and tranquil than that which I have chosen. It is, indeed, generally regarded as free from care, and as allowing the greatest scope to ease and self-indulgence.—The opulence which it promises to confer is also a powerful motive to impel men to the adoption of it—a much more powerful one, indeed, than any considerations of a religious or moral nature. For what numbers are there whose inquiry is directed after wealthy benefices rather than after the rule of an upright life. It is deemed honourable amongst mortals to excel others in pomp, to be flattered and courted by the multitude, to abound in riches, which procure that outward splendour which is generally thought to constitute dignity. And it is deemed still more honourable to obtain these advantages without labour, and in a short time. Hence the clergy, springing like mushrooms in an hour, are rapidly advanced to the highest dignities. Thus it very frequently happens, that you are obliged to venerate as a God, a man whom you have been accustomed to despise as a mean, abject, ignoble, and ill-bred character. By one word of the pontiff, the ignorant become, in the estimation of the vulgar, learned; the stupid wise; the uninstructed accomplished—though at the same time the real character of the men is precisely the same as it was before.
“In addition to these considerations, I was well aware how important is the dignified office of an ecclesiastic; and what a weight of responsibility rests upon those who, by accepting benefices, undertake the spiritual guidance of their fellow men; and I was deterred from entering upon the clerical functions by the strictness of the precepts which are inculcated by the ancient doctors of the church. For when I was informed by these most holy men, whose works I had perused, to what uses the wealth of the church ought to be appropriated—that he who does not work, ought not to eat—and that the labourer in spiritual things ought to be content with food and raiment; and when I was conscious that I was unfit for the discharge of clerical duties; and when I knew that I could obtain food and raiment by other, though certainly more laborious means; I thought it advisable—not indeed to contemn the former pursuit, but to adopt the latter, which seemed more suitable to my disposition. That warfare is, I must confess, better and more illustrious in which men can attain to a greater pitch of merit, provided they conduct themselves according to the rules of religion and their office. But after maturely examining my own strength and ability, I was afraid of engaging in a field, in which I should incur the almost certain danger of basely yielding to the adversary, or of falling in the combat, to the hazard of my soul.
“Being determined therefore to employ myself in secular concerns, in forming my matrimonial engagement, I adopted those principles which have obtained the approbation of the wise and learned. For in the choice of a wife, I was not influenced by riches, which render the generality of men blind to their true interests—nor was I prompted by a wish to rise to civil honours, or to strengthen my interest with the great. These are objects of earnest desire to the multitude at large. But I was influenced by different motives. In looking out for a partner for life, I looked for honour, probity, virtue, which the wisest of men have declared to be the most ample dower which a parent can bestow upon his child. Being, then, well acquainted with the excellent dispositions, the modesty, and the other characteristic virtues of a certain young lady of noble family, who had not yet completed her eighteenth year, on her I fixed my choice. The exemplariness of this lady’s manners was acknowledged by every body who was acquainted with her; and the excellence of her character I esteemed her most striking recommendation. Such indeed is her beauty, that I cannot but occasionally reflect with seriousness on the disparity of our years—however, as I knew that from her tender youth, she had been educated in such a manner, that she had a still greater share of good principles and of modesty, than of comeliness and grace of person, I determined to make her my own. Nor have I repented of my resolution. For so much does she daily rise in my esteem, that I continually give thanks to God, who, in former times has always blessed me with more than, on account of my sins, I could possibly deserve; and in bestowing upon me so excellent a wife, has so bountifully provided for my comfort and satisfaction, that there is nothing that I can wish for in addition to his present mercies.
“Our friend Zucharo was accustomed to say, when he wished to commend some exquisitely dressed dish, that it was so delicately seasoned that the least alteration in its composition would spoil it. So say I of my wife. There is nothing which I wish to be added to her character, nor any thing which I wish to be taken away from it.
“I must now tell you the reason why I have been so late in writing to you on this subject. It is a common observation, that there are few if any married men who do not become weary of their wives in the course of a year. The pontiff has allowed me six months for my period of probation. The fifth month is now expired; and my wife daily grows upon my esteem, and is daily more agreeable to me, and more compliant with my wishes. Forming a conjecture as to the future from my experience of the past, I am inspired by a confident expectation that I shall never repent of having formed this connexion. I trust also that God will continue to me his favour. For if he was propitious to me when I strayed from the path of moral rectitude, I may reasonably hope, that since I have entered upon the right way he will shower down his blessings upon me with a still more liberal hand. But whatever may happen in the course of the changes which take place in this sublunary world, I shall never repent of having acted uprightly. I wished to communicate this intelligence to you, my dear friend, in order that you might rejoice in my joy. I am sensible that the gravity of your wisdom might claim a more weighty subject of correspondence: but the wisest of men occasionally indulge themselves with a little relaxation from serious pursuits. This relaxation I trust you will experience in the perusal of my present epistle.”[271]
Guarino Veronese embraced the occasion of Poggio’s marriage to renew the friendly intercourse with him which had been unhappily suspended in consequence of their late dispute. He addressed him on this joyful occasion in a congratulatory letter, to which Poggio replied with the most cordial frankness. “In your epistle,” said he, “which I received by the kindness of Francesco of Ferrara, I recognize my friend Guarino, who was formerly inferior to no one in the testimonies of his affection towards me. I am happy to find, that though your ability in maintaining the intercourse of friendship may have been suspended, it is not lost. I also am the same that I ever was—your most faithful friend. Be assured that my regard for you has not suffered the least diminution. A difference of opinion can never justify a breach of friendship. Our late contention, in which we engaged for the purpose of exercising our abilities in the bestowing of praise and the infliction of censure, was highly commendable. The great men of antiquity adopted different sides of the question in the senate and at the bar, without the least infringement of the duties of friendship. It would indeed redound to our disgrace, if the similarity of our studies, which is usually the firmest bond of union, should dissolve that pleasing connection which has subsisted for so long a space of time. The learned and justly renowned Francesco Barbaro, during his late visit to Florence, intimated to me his suspicions, that my friendly regard for you was somewhat diminished. I told him that his suspicions were entirely groundless; that my esteem for you was so far from being diminished, that it was increased—I also promised to write to you. This promise I should certainly have immediately fulfilled, had I not been prevented by the press of business occasioned by the departure of the pontiff.
“Accept my thanks for your kind congratulation on the late change in my condition. I hope I shall find it productive of perpetual comfort and pleasure. For since, as Flaccus says, the virtue of parents is a great dowry, I have had this alone in view, and have overlooked riches and other recommendations, which the generality of men regard as indispensably requisite to the happiness of the married state. Petronius Arbiter asserts, that wisdom and beauty are rarely allied—but by the favour of heaven, I am united to a wife, who, though she has not yet completed her eighteenth year, and is distinguished by her beauty, is yet more virtuous than she is fair, and comprehends in her character all the graces which adorn the female sex. I trust, therefore, that I have made a provision of comfort for my future years, though some of my friends say that I am beginning a new art, at the time when I ought to be quitting it. But it is never too late to do what is right and honest: and as good poets take especial pains in polishing the last act of their play, I am resolved to dedicate the remainder of my days to purity of conduct.”[272]
At this time, the Florentines and the Venetians, being at war with the Duke of Milan, had engaged as their ally Giovan Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua; and whilst hostilities were carrying on between the above mentioned parties, the eldest son of the Marquis, being an ardent admirer of the character of Niccolo Piccinino, who held a station of distinction in the Milanese army, had secretly quitted his father’s house, and had entered into the service of the Duke for the purpose of studying the art of war under the auspices of that celebrated Condottiere. Gonzaga was so much irritated by this conduct of his son, that he disinherited him, as being, by a species of desertion, guilty of a capital crime. The young prince, whilst this judgment hung suspended over his head, having been ordered by Piccinino to guard with a body of troops the lines by which the town of Barga was beleaguered by the Milanese forces, was wounded and taken prisoner in a battle which he fought with Francesco Sforza, one of the commanders in the pay of the Florentine republic. The repentant run-away having, on his recovery, taken service under Sforza, and thus rejoined the standard of his native country, applied to his father for forgiveness of his fault. But he solicited for pardon in vain. Gonzaga, either indulging the natural severity of his disposition, or fearing to excite the jealousy of the Venetians, should he pass over so heinous a crime, turned a deaf ear to the suit of the youthful warrior, and sternly refused to mitigate the doom which he had pronounced upon him.
Deeply affected by this incident, Poggio, who was then with the pontifical court at Bologna, wrote to the Marquis a long and elaborate letter, in which he pleaded, with a zeal enlightened by the principles of humanity, for an extension of mercy to the juvenile offender. In this eloquent composition, after an appropriate introduction, in which he touched upon the difficulty of the task of regulating human conduct according to contingent circumstances, and the necessity of due reflection for the proper discharge of moral duties, Poggio reminded the Marquis, that, learned and prudent as he was justly accounted, yet as a sovereign he was liable to be led astray by his passions, which were likely to be fostered rather than restrained by the applause of interested flatterers, whose constant object it is to prevent the voice of reason from approaching the ears of men invested with power. This remark he aptly illustrated by a reference to the history of Augustus Cæsar, who, having repented of the severity with which he had treated his delinquent daughter Julia, exclaimed in the bitterness of his feelings, that he should not have conducted himself towards her with so much harshness, had Marcus Agrippa and Mecænas been still living, who alone of his courtiers dared freely to tell him the truth.