cares that of the education of her brother and her future sister-in-law. The greater part of Vittoria's youth was passed here, amid circumstances admirably adapted to form her intellect, and to develop her love of nature and of art. The most illustrious men of the age were the guests of the Duchess de Francavilla in her beautiful retreat. At sixteen, the young girl already had a reputation for distinguished talent and extraordinary culture. She understood Latin well, and wrote her own language elegantly, both in prose and verse. To these rare accomplishments, she added every feminine charm. If we may believe the reports of her contemporaries, the very cestus of Venus was hers. A beautiful blonde in person, she possessed also the more seductive powers of engaging manners, and an amiable and generous temper; and the still greater merit of high and noble principle.

The aspirants for this treasure were, of course, numerous. Among them were the Dukes of Savoy and of Braganza. But even the prospect of a crown could not tempt this true heart from its sworn allegiance. Affection and loyalty both held her true to her young betrothed. Ferrante being the sole representative of the family name, an anxiety to preserve his noble race from extinction urged on the marriage, which was celebrated with great pomp, in the ducal palace at Ischia, Dec. 27, 1507. Without possessing the lofty character of his wife or his sister, the Duke de Pescara was yet esteemed to be worthy of his beautiful bride. He had the advantages of a fine person, great military ability, a chivalrous courage, and love of adventure; the taste of an artist, and the manners of a courtier; and, above all, a passionate love for his fair wife, and entire confidence in her high and noble nature. Even the severe disappointment of his hopes, in the failure of all issue, did not abate his passion. He is said to have borne this trial better than Vittoria herself.

During the eighteen years of their married life, Vittoria enjoyed the society of her husband only at brief and rare intervals; but the growth of his military renown gave her sincere pleasure. He contributed largely to the success of the

Imperial arms against France, and was high in favor with the emperor and his court. The troops under his command were mostly Spanish, and he was partly Spanish himself; which perhaps accounts for some of the hard things which Italian and French historians delight to say of him. One act of truly chivalric kindness, which he was privileged to perform, must have specially delighted the heart of his wife. It was the lot of Pescara to soothe the dying hour of the Chevalier Bayard, who was mortally wounded at Biagressa, in 1524. He was himself severely wounded at the battle of Pavia, and obliged to seek repose for a season. He was appointed, for a time, joint commander with Prosper Colonna; but, this arrangement not working well, his pride was wounded by Colonna's being named first in rank. About this time, a conspiracy was formed by the princes of Northern Italy, together with the Pope, to throw off the yoke of Charles V., which seemed likely soon to inthrall all Italy. The throne of Naples was offered to Pescara, as a bait to lure him into this alliance. He is said to have been strongly tempted, and to have wavered in his allegiance; but the firm and earnest counsels of his wife, in whose soul loyalty was a predominant virtue, held him true to his oath. According to Paulus Lovius, her friend and historian, she wrote to him, "that he ought to remember his accustomed virtue, whose honor and praise raised him above the fortune of many kings. For honor is not acquired by the greatness of kingdoms, or of titles; but by the path of virtue, which goes down to one's descendants with illustrious praise. For herself, she did not desire to be the wife of a king; but rather of that great captain, who, not only in war by his courage, but in peace by his magnanimity, had known how to conquer the greatest kings."

The counsel of Vittoria was as prudent as it was loyal; for the emperor was already acquainted with the designs of the conspirators, and punished them with severity. Pescara is accused of having overstepped the bounds of duty, in betraying the secrets confided to him, and in rigorously pursuing those whose accomplice he so nearly became. If so,

retribution was close at hand. While besieging Maximilian Sforza in one of his forts, the hardships of the siege, combined perhaps with the mental struggle through which he had passed, threw him into a fever, which was soon pronounced incurable. His wife hastened to see him for the last time; but she was too late. The fatal news reached her at Viterbo. The Marquis died Nov. 4, 1525.

The man who could retain the devoted love of such a wife, who had known him intimately from his very childhood, would naturally be supposed endowed with noble and generous qualities, and a warm and honorable nature. Vittoria certainly found all these qualities in him; but how far they were the creation of her own loyal and loving nature, it is difficult to say. Italian authorities represent him " as singularly haughty, reserved, and insincere;" but, as he was considered almost as a Spaniard, national feeling may have imbittered their prejudices.

Overwhelmed with grief, the Marchioness de Pescara would gladly have followed her husband from that world which was now left so desolate; but her religion forbade a voluntary death, and she sought its nearest approach in seclusion in a cloister. For this purpose she took refuge in the monastery of St. Sylvester, under the protection of the Colonna family, intending to take the veil as soon as possible. But Clement VII. interposed his fatherly interdict, and forbade the Sisters to give her the indissoluble vow. After the first agony of grief had passed, she began to find occupation in the employment of her pen, and in the composition of those sonnets in which she fondly hoped to embalm the memory of her idol. Having returned to Naples, she received many offers of a second marriage; but to all she replied, "that the sun of her life, though others esteemed him dead, was always living for her."

Leaving for the present the consideration of three of the most interesting phases of her life, her religious experience, her poetic productions, and her relation to Michael Angelo, we will briefly sketch the remaining incidents of her outward existence. Most of her time was spent in the

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solitude of Ischia, engaged in the composition of her poems, in correspondence with her friends, or in affording consolation or instruction to those who sought her aid. Among her distinguished literary friends were especially Bernardo Tasso, father of the greater poet; Lodovico Martelli; and the famous Ariosto, who devoted six flattering octaves to her praise. She occasionally visited Rome, to enjoy the society of Michael Angelo and other friends, where she was always welcomed with distinguished attention. But the public troubles of the times now added new poignancy to her private grief. In 1526, the Colonna family were banished, their goods confiscated, and their name put under a ban. Vittoria strove to shield them, but in vain. Her religious enthusiasm became more intense; and her sacred poems made her almost an object of adoration throughout Italy: Charles V. himself turned aside from his triumphal course to visit her.

At one time she proposed a pilgrimage to the Holy City; but her adopted son, the Marquis del Vasto, dissuaded her from a journey which was deemed dangerous in her state of health. She visited with him the ancient monuments of the Eternal City; and it is recorded that all the literati and artists of Rome accompanied her in these expeditions. Her health continued to fail, and she is said to have been a prey to attacks of morbid melancholy. She tried the remedy of travelling. Leaving Rome in 1537, after a short pause at Lucca, she went to Ferrara, where she was warmly welcomed by the duke, who invited all the most distinguished writers of Venice and Lombardy to meet her. But neither change of place, nor increased admiration, brought health and peace; and, in 1541, she withdrew into the monastery of Orvieto. She remained here for a few months, and then left for the convent of St. Catharine, where her life became a model of Christian perfection. Here she remained about six years, devoting her time to religious duties and sacred compositions, and visiting Rome occasionally, to enjoy her friends' society. Earth had one more trial for her in the loss of her adopted son, the Marquis del Vasto, who perished in an unfortunate expedition to Africa. She felt this loss deeply, but

suffered no complaint to escape her. It was soon known over Italy that her health was rapidly declining; and public prayers were offered for her, as for a sovereign. Physicians announced that "only God could cure her." In the year 1547, she was removed from her convent to Rome, to the house of her cousin Giulia Colonna, the only one of her family whom the conscription had not reached. Her devoted friend Michael Angelo was constantly with her, consoling her by his friendship and encouraging her by his strength. She died on the 15th of February. Towards evening, Michael Angelo perceived an increased pallor. "I am dying," she said; "help me to recite my last prayer: I remember it no longer." One last look at her friend, one last smile, and her soul passed quietly on its upward way.

Thus, at the age of fifty-seven, closed the mortal life of this rare woman, so beautiful, so gifted, so loving, so beloved. By her own desire, she was quietly buried in the convent of St. Ann. In her, we find one of the rarest and richest types of womanhood. Beauty of person, sweetness of disposition, exalted character, religious depth of feeling, passionate love, superior intellect, refined culture, are all so harmoniously blended, that we can scarcely cite one quality as more characteristic of her, than another. But if there is one word which, in the course of our narrative, we have felt tempted to use most often, it.is loyal. Fidelity seems to have been the key-note of her moral nature, a firm adherence to that to which she had once given herself, to her God, to her country, to her early betrothed, to her friends, to her principles. She was true, in spite of every temptation; or, rather, she scarcely felt any opposing claim. This virtue, which man too often arrogates to himself, was the basis of all the beauty and charm of the most exquisitely feminine nature of which history gives us the record.

The Marchioness of Pescara fondly believed, that this would be her proudest title, wife of the greatest captain of the age. If she valued her poetic fame, it was as the means of preserving and adorning this beloved name. But posterity forgets this name and title in the dearer phrase, “Vittoria