The Duchess of Trajetto Part 7

"I hope it may," said the physician, equivocally; and he changed the subject.

The little Vespasiano Gonzaga, who, on the death of the Duke of Sabbionetta, came into Giulia's guardians.h.i.+p at eight years old, in after times was very liberal to the Jews. He granted them a licence to establish a Hebrew press at Sabbionetta, from which issued several editions of the Pentateuch, Psalter, and Hebrew commentaries.[7]

[7] Benj. Wiffen, _Introduction to Alfabeto Christiano_.

CHAPTER VII.

SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO.

Giulia remembered, the next morning, as her cameriera was warping some pearls into her hair, that she had meant and half engaged to try a course of mortification on the Cardinal's departure. She therefore put on an old green gown, with bouffonnee sleeves, which was almost too worn for a d.u.c.h.ess; and, in a very easy pair of slippers, sat down to her morning refection. Some sweetmeats allured her, but she took a piece of plain bread and a gla.s.s of lemonade; after which, she thought "Well done, resolution!" and tasted the sweetmeats after all. Moderately, however.

After this, she sat for a good while in a waking dream; and then, rousing herself, determined to go to church, but found it was too late.

She thought she would send for the poor widow of whom Bar Hhasdai had spoken to her; but just then, Caterina came to tell her that her lapdog had run a thorn into its foot; and as one act of mercy would do for another, she superintended the dressing of the little animal's paw, and did not send for the widow. After this, she inspected the embroidery of her maids of honour, and thought of fourteen rhymes as the skeleton of a sonnet.

She had advanced thus far in this well-spent day, when the sound of horses' feet made her suddenly aware of the approach of a visitor. Now, our d.u.c.h.ess did not like being caught; it was very seldom, indeed, that she _could_ be caught in deshabille; for she enjoyed the consciousness of being at all times a perfectly well-dressed woman. It was hard, therefore, to be found in half-toilette the only time in all the season that such a misfortune could have occurred; especially as it would not be known to partake of the meritorious nature of a penance. However, the mortification would be all the more complete. Who could the visitor be? The Bishop of Fondi?

She looked into the court-yard, and saw a grave, elderly person in ecclesiastical habit, with four mounted attendants, descending somewhat stiffly from his horse. His face was rather plain; his figure tall and imposing. He had a snub nose, high, broad forehead, small, penetrating eyes, and auburn hair and beard a little silvered.

In a few minutes the maggior-domo announced "Messer Sebastiano Veneziano."

The d.u.c.h.ess uttered an exclamation of joy, and advanced, beaming with smiles, to meet him. Never had she looked more lovely: the painter started, and paused for a moment, as she approached. The next instant, her white hand was in his.

"Welcome, Messer Sebastiano, welcome! How good of you to grace my poor house!"

"Ill.u.s.trious Lady, his Holiness the Pope desired me to give you his paternal greeting."

"I gratefully thank his Holiness."

"--And his Eminence, Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici kisses your hands, and supplicates of your condescension that you will remember your promise to let my poor pencil limn your features."

"I have not forgotten it. I shall esteem it an honour to sit to so great a master. How would you have me dressed, Messer Sebastian? What pose shall you choose?"

"Vossignoria will allow me to study you a little before I decide?"

"Certainly, certainly. Rather formidable, though, to think I am always being studied!"

"I should recommend Vossignoria not to think at all about it."

"Well, I will try. You are fatigued with your journey, Messer Sebastian."

"It will soon pa.s.s off. My hand is not steady enough to paint to-day.

The journey has interested me. I have made acquaintance with the promontory of Circe, the s.h.i.+ning rock of Anxur, and the towering Volscian mountains--all renowned in song, as I need not tell you, Signora! I observed Cora and Sezza s.h.i.+ning like aerial palaces against the brown rugged rock that supports them. I viewed with interest the woods and thickets that once sheltered Camilla. Piperno is, you know, the _antiqua urbs_ of Virgil. I am speaking to a princess who is a cla.s.sical scholar----"

"Little enough of one," replied the d.u.c.h.ess. "Cardinal Ippolito took compa.s.sion on my ignorance, and translated the second book of the Eneid for me. But how go things at Rome?"

And the great painter found that the great lady was more interested in the chit-chat of the capital, than in cla.s.sical allusion and learned quotation.

The d.u.c.h.ess could always summon at short notice a little circle of deferential friends to her evening meal. She appeared in velvet and jewels. The next morning she wore white. This was not out of coquetry, but as a simple matter of business, that the famous master might make up his mind what suited her best, as a sitter, and proceed to work.

"Lady," said he, "I prefer the dress in which I saw you first."

"Oh, but that is so old! so shabby!----"

"_Non importa_--it harmonises with your complexion----"

"Two shades of olive," said she, laughing a little; and she went to change her dress.

When she returned, Sebastian had concentrated the light by excluding it altogether from one window, and placing a screen before the lower half of the other. His easel and panel had been brought in by his attendant, who was now busy laying his palette, and the artist was selecting chalks and cartridge paper for a preparatory sketch.

"You look charming," said he, as Giulia entered and seated herself in a raised chair. She was in the olive-green dress, cut square on the bust, with velvet bars on the corsage; and full, puffed, long sleeves, a white lace neckerchief, and long transparent veil, added to the modest and n.o.ble simplicity of her dress; while her rich auburn hair, dark in the shade and golden in the sun,[8] was braided behind with a few pearls, and gathered into rich coils.

[8] "As through the meadow-lands clear rivers run, Blue in the shadow, silver in the sun."

Hon. Mrs. Norton. _Lady of La Garaye._

Poor Cynthia, with her throat swathed up, stood behind with her feather-fan; but the painter looked distastefully at her, and did not repeat his glance: he had no mind to introduce her, even as a foil.

"I must make a saint or an angel of you, since you are for a Cardinal,"

said he, with a grave smile; "and it will not be difficult."

"Surely, this old gown is not very angelical?" said the d.u.c.h.ess.

"No matter. A nimbus and pincers will identify you with St. Agatha or St. Apollonia, quite sufficiently for the purpose."

He began to draw with great diligence, and was terribly silent. The d.u.c.h.ess felt inclined to yawn.

"More to the right," he said, abruptly, as she inclined her head a little to the left. "Perdona, ill.u.s.trissima."

"Pray do not stand on ceremony," said she. Her countenance had become vacant, and he felt he must call up its expression.

"Do you take any interest in art, Signora?"

"O yes, a great deal. I only wish I knew more about it."

"Do you know what is its great object?"

"To address the eye?"

"To address the mind."

"Certainly. Of course. I ought to have said so."

"The painter who only aims to deceive the eye is ignorant of the true dignity of art."

"To deceive the eye, and to please it, however, are different things."