The Duchess of Trajetto Part 12

Fancy the state of the poor d.u.c.h.ess! She received this letter just before she went, for the first time, with Vittoria, to hear Ochino preach; and however attentive he might have thought her, she was in fact thinking of the lawyer's letter all the while, and writing imaginary letters to the Pope and the Emperor. For, Giulia had overpowering allies; and if her sweet nature were sufficiently stirred to call them to her succour, woe unto those who attacked her! This had been exemplified immediately after the Duke's death, when his kinsmen, Ascanio Colonna and Napoleone Orsini, taking advantage of her supposed helplessness, laid claim to his estates. Up in arms were the Pope and the Emperor directly. The Pope p.r.o.nounced the will valid, and the Emperor put her in possession of her estates. Yet, now, here was the whole matter to go over again, and with some one much nearer and dearer!

Giulia had a fit of crying; and the humid eyes and dejected mien which Ochino and Valdes attributed to her convictions of sin were traceable to a much lower source.

"How well dear Ochino laboured the point of justification by faith!"

exclaimed Vittoria, after their return from church. "Did you ever hear it better demonstrated?"

"To say the truth, dear Vittoria," replied the d.u.c.h.ess, "I scarcely heard two words of it, and do not remember one."

The Marchioness looked shocked; but Giulia continued--

"Isabella threatens me with a lawsuit, and I am determined to write to the Pope about it."

"Oh, pray do not," cried Vittoria, "you are always a great deal too violent. You use such extraordinarily strong measures when mild ones would do."

"_I_, violent? Why, that is the last thing I am! It is because I am unprotected that people trample on me!"

"Trample! O, my dear Giulia!"

"Why, only remember how Ascanio and Napoleone came down upon me directly my poor Duke was dead!"

"Yes, and only remember how _you_ came down upon them. You raised the whole country about it. No one less than the Pope and the Emperor would serve your turn."

"Well, and did not they say I was right? and did not they take my part?"

"Truly they did!--but it does not follow that they would do so again.

Men are apt to fly to the rescue, directly they think a helpless woman is oppressed; but if they find out she is able and willing to fight her own battles, they let her! And indeed, dear Giulia, it does not become a woman to be pugnacious."

"Pugnacious!" The word was highly offensive, and the d.u.c.h.ess was deeply hurt. She threw herself on a pile of cus.h.i.+ons and began to tear a nosegay to pieces, without saying a word.

"Hear what St. Paul says," pursued Vittoria, sitting down beside her, and turning over the leaves of a little book.

"St. Paul knows nothing about it," muttered the d.u.c.h.ess.

"There you are quite mistaken," said Vittoria, still eagerly hunting up the pa.s.sage, "St. Paul knew something about everything, for he was a great genius and an eminently practical man, besides being a holy apostle. This is what he says--'Dare any of you, having a matter against another, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?... I speak to your shame. Is it so, that there is not a wise man among you?

No? Not one, that shall be able to judge between his brethren? But brother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers! Now, therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. Why do ye not rather take wrong? Why do not ye rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?'"

"That is very fine for St. Paul to say," said Giulia. "I wonder how he would have liked it himself."

"Giulia! you must not say such things as that. It is wicked."

"Why, to hear you talk, one would think it was I who wanted to go to law with Isabella; whereas, it is Isabella who wants to go to law with _me_!"

And Giulia began to cry.

"n.o.body is so unfortunate as I," said she.

"I pity you," said Vittoria, "but I own I think you are blameworthy."

"In what?"

"In your spirit."

"Why, what would you do in my place?"

"I would not write to the Pope."

"That's what you would _not_ do. What would you do?"

"Settle it by amicable agreement."

"But Isabella will not be amicable!"

"If she will not, that is _her_ fault."

"Certainly! And so it is her fault."

"Well, my dear Giulia, I would not trouble myself so for all the pearls and diamonds in the world. What are they, but so much dust? If you throw them into a crucible, they will lose all their beauty, and--"

"So should I, if you put _me_ into a crucible," said Giulia, beginning to laugh; and her own little joke did more to make her see the bright side of things than all her cousin's wise saws.

"I know what I'll do," said she. "I'll write to Ferrante."

Ferrante was her only surviving brother.

"Ah, that is a good thought," said Vittoria. "He will be sure to help you."

So the d.u.c.h.ess wrote to Don Ferrante; and when Don Ferrante's answer came, which was not within a fortnight, he told her he was sorry to find she was embroiling herself again with her husband's relations; a contentious spirit was worse than a continual dropping: he feared she had had a little too much prosperity and petting: misfortunes were the lot of all, and it was vain to repine because a rose-leaf was doubled on our couch, &c., &c., &c. Think how many people were a great deal worse off, &c., &c., &c.

Clearly, there was no comfort to be had from Don Ferrante. So Giulia, getting another aggravating letter from Isabella, consulted the best lawyers in Naples; who advised her not to answer her, but to leave them to conduct the correspondence (for a consideration).

Then came so much parry and thrust, and tergiversation, and objurgation, and recrimination, that poor Giulia became seriously ill. Then the Marchioness of Pescara was very kind to her, and sat by her all day, and would have done so all night, but she fidgeted her to death, by what Giulia called preaching, though Vittoria only spoke what she meant for a word in season; and Giulia longed to tell her she would rather be nursed by her own maids.

"Ah, Leila!" said Cynthia, as she knelt, fanning her mistress, "I wish we were all back at Fondi."

"Why do you wish that, Cynthia?"

"You would be better there, Leila. You would be under the care of Bar Hhasdai."

"Bar Hhasdai has no cure for worry, Cynthia."

"I think you would be better there, Leila."

"Cynthia! do _you_ care for me? do you love me?"

Cynthia replied by repeatedly kissing the hem of the d.u.c.h.ess's garment.

"Ah, it is all very well to make that dumb show; but do you really love me?"

"Yes, Leila, I love you. When the hound flew at me, you were bathed in my blood, and did not mind."