The ducal court at Ferrara became, in the latter half of the sixteenth century, the centre of much intellectual life and brilliancy; generous patronage was extended to the arts and to literature, and here gathered together a company which rivalled in splendor the court of Urbino in the days of the Countess Elizabetta. The duke, Alfonso II., son of that unfortunate Renee, daughter of Louis XII. of France, who had been kept in an Italian prison for twelve long years because of her suspected sympathy with the reformed doctrines, came of a long line of princes who had in the past given liberally to the cause of learning. During his reign, which covers the period from 1559 to 1597, the social side of court life in his dukedom came into special prominence. The two sisters of Alfonso—Lucrezia and Leonora—presided over this court, and to it came, from time to time, many of the most beautiful women of Italy. Tarquinia Moeza was there, a woman of beauty and of rare poetic gifts; Lucrezia Bendidio, beautiful and accomplished, and having constantly about her a most admiring throng of poets and literati; and later came the two acknowledged beauties of the day, Leonora di Sanvitali, Countess of Scandiano, and her no less charming mother-in-law, Barbara, Countess of Sala. Among the men of this company, suffice it to mention the name of the poet Guarini, whose fame has become enduring on account of his charming and idyllic drama, Il pastor fido, for he it is who seems to embody that sprightliness of wit which gave to Ferrara at that time its gladsome reputation.

To this court there came, for the first time, in the year 1565, young Torquato Tasso, poet and courtier, scholar and gentleman, and already the author of a published narrative poem, the Rinaldo, which caused him to be hailed as the most promising poet of his generation when he was but in his eighteenth year. Bernardo Tasso, the poet's father, was likewise a poet and a professional courtier of some distinction, and varying fortunes had taken him to Urbino, where the son Torquato grew up, surrounded by all the evidences of refinement and culture. He had been favored by nature with a tall and commanding figure, and his good looks had already caused more than one gentle heart to flutter, when, at the age of twenty-one, with his father's consent and approval, he entered the service of the Cardinal Luigi d'Este, and became at once a conspicuous figure in court circles. Almost instantly the youth, filled as he was with most romantic ideas and readily susceptible to the power of woman's beauty, fell a captive to the charms of the Princess Leonora d'Este, who, though some ten years his senior, seemed to embody all the graces and to completely satisfy the ideal which up to this time he had been able to see only with his mind's eye. Leonora had already been sought in marriage by many titled suitors, but she had invariably turned a deaf ear to such proposals, never finding one who could please her fancy or who promised comfort in her loneliness. For she was lonely in that court, as she seems to have dwelt in a sort of spiritual isolation most of the time; there was always a melancholy air about her, which had no doubt been induced in large measure by her mother's sad fate. For Tasso to love her was most natural; but they both knew that such a love could be but hopeless, and it cannot be said that she encouraged him in any covert manner or that he made open profession of his passion. It is true that he makes her the subject of many of his poems, wherein he lauds her to the skies, but this is no more than was expected of a court poet; he did the same for other ladies, but in all that was dedicated to her charms there seems to shine forth a truer light of real affection than is found in all the others. What words of affection, if any, passed between them can never be known; but it seems that there must have been some sort of tacit consent to his silent adoration, and Tasso tells in a madrigal, perhaps in proof of this, that once, when he had asked her pardon for having put his arm upon her own in the eagerness of conversation, she replied, with gentleness: "You offended, not by putting your arm there, but by taking it away!"

For twelve years Tasso remained at Ferrara, constantly writing sonnets and short poems of all descriptions, which were most often addressed to Leonora, but at the same time he was busily working upon that longer poem in epic form, descriptive of the First Crusade, the Gerusalemme liberata, wherein he puts a new feeling into Italian poetry, which had been expressed before by Ariosto in his amatory verse, but which cannot be found to any great extent in his more pretentious work, the Orlando Furioso. This new feeling was real sentiment, and not sentimentality, and it denotes the growing conception of the worth and dignity of womanhood which we have already discovered in the poetry of Michael Angelo. Allowing for the infinite contradictions possible in human nature, it may be that these men of the same time, who so coolly killed their wives and sisters for acts of infidelity, were touched in some dim way with the same feeling, to which, alas! they gave but sorry expression, if the surmise be true.

The constant excitement of the court and his unending literary labors commenced to tell upon the poet in 1575, when his health began to fail and he grew irritable and restless, became subject to delusions, fancied that he had been denounced by the Inquisition, and was in daily terror of being poisoned. Then it was said that the poet was mad, and there are some who have whispered that it was his unrequited love for the Princess Leonora which brought about this calamity. However that may be, the climax was reached in the year 1577, when Tasso, in the presence of Lucrezia d'Este,—who was then Duchess of Urbino,—drew a knife upon one of his servants. For this he was arrested, but soon after was given his liberty on condition that he should go to a Franciscan monastery and give himself that rest and attention which his failing health demanded. Here, however, he was beset with the idea that the duke sought to take his life, and he fled in disguise to his sister, who was then living at Sorrento. Various explanations have been given for this sudden flight, and some biographers have insinuated that the duke had discovered some hidden intrigue between his sister Leonora and Tasso which had caused the latter to fear for his safety. This supposition cannot be accepted as true, however, for if the duke had known or had even strongly suspected such a thing he would have promptly put the poet to death without compunction, and such a course of action would have been entirely justified by the public sentiment of the time. And if this supposition were true, is it probable that Tasso would have been allowed to return to Ferrara in a short time, as he did? Now, begins a confused life, and the poet comes and goes, moved by a strange restlessness, never happy away from Ferrara, yet never caring to stay there long. Finally, on one occasion he thought himself so neglected at his return that he made a most violent scene, and became so bitter and incoherent in his complaints that he was pronounced insane and imprisoned by order of the duke. There he remained for seven years, and the most of that time he was in a well-lighted and well-furnished room, where he was allowed to receive visitors and devote himself to literary work whenever he so desired. At the end of this time, in which Tasso himself speaks of his mental disorder, he went to Mantua, where he had been invited by the Prince Vincenzo Gonzaga; there he spent a few pleasant months; but he soon grew discontented, the roaming fit came upon him again, and after a number of years of pitiful endeavor he finally died, in 1595, at the convent of Saint Onofrio.

It does not seem just to blame the Princess Leonora d'Este for the sad fate which befell Tasso, as so many have done, for there is no proof of any unkindness on her part. That he loved her there can be but little doubt, but hardly to the verge of madness, as he wrote love sonnets to other ladies at the same time; the truth seems to be that he became mentally unbalanced as the result of the precocious development of his powers, which made a man of him while yet a boy and developed in him an intensity of feeling which made his candle of life burn fiercely, but for a short time only. His end was but the natural consequence of the beginning, and whether Leonora helped or hindered in the final result, it matters not, for she was blameless. She died in the second year of Tasso's imprisonment, sad at heart as she had ever been, never deeply touched by the poet's constant praises, and to the end a victim to that melancholy mood which had come upon her in childhood.



Chapter X

The Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries

The transition from the sixteenth to the seventeenth century in Italy was marked by no sudden changes of any kind. The whole country was thoroughly prostrate and under the control of the empire; a national spirit did not exist, and the people seemed content to slumber on without opposing in any way the tyranny of their foreign masters. The glory of the Italian Renaissance had been sung in all the countries of Europe; in every nook and corner of the continent, Italian painters and sculptors, princes and poets, artists and artisans of all kinds, had stimulated this new birth of the world; but this mission accomplished, Italy seemed to find little more to do, and for lack of an ideal her sons and daughters wasted their time in the pursuit of idle things. It was the natural reaction after an age of unusual force and brilliancy. In the shadow of the great achievements of the sixteenth century in all lines of human activity, the seventeenth, lost in admiration, could imagine no surer way to equal attainment than to imitate what had gone before. Literature became stilted and full of mannerisms and underwent a process of refinement which left it without strength or vigor, and society in general seemed more concerned with form and ceremony than with the deeper things of the spirit.

Countless examples are on record to show the petty jealousies which were agitating the public mind at this time, and the number of quarrels and arguments which had their origin in most trivial causes passes belief. Rank and position were of the utmost consequence, and questions of precedence in public functions were far more eagerly discussed than were questions of national policy. Naples, under the control of Spanish princes, was particularly noted for such exhibitions of undignified behavior. On one occasion, during a solemn church ceremony, the military governor of the city left the cathedral in a great rage because he had noticed that a small footstool had been placed for the archbishop, while nothing of the kind had been provided for his own comfort. At the death of a certain princess, the royal commissioners delayed the funeral because it was claimed that she had used arms and insignia of nobility above her true rank, and was not entitled, therefore, to the brilliant obsequies which were being planned by the members of her family. The body was finally put in a vault and left unburied until the matter had been passed upon by the heraldry experts in Madrid! During the funeral services which were being held in honor of the Queen of Spain, the archbishop desired footstools placed for all the bishops present, but the vicegerent opposed this innovation, and the ceremony was finally suspended because they could come to no agreement. The cities of Cremona and Pavia were in litigation for eighty-two years over the question as to which should have precedence over the other in public functions where representatives of the two places happened to be together; finally, the Milanese Senate, to which the question was submitted, "after careful examination and mature deliberation, decided that it had nothing to decide." Another example of this small-mindedness is shown in the case of the General Giovanni Serbelloni, who, while fighting in the Valteline in 1625, was unwilling to open a despatch which had been sent to him, because he had not been addressed by all his titles. It is a pleasure to add that as a result of this action he was left in ignorance as to the approach of the enemy and the next day suffered a severe defeat.

Rome was the seat of much splendor and display—an inevitable state of affairs when the fact is taken into consideration that the city was filled with legates and embassies, all anxious to wait upon his holiness the pope and gain some special privilege or concession. At this time the cardinals, too, were not mere ecclesiastics, but rather men of great wealth and power; often they became prime ministers in their several countries,—as Richelieu, for example,—and the great and influential houses of Savoy, Este, Gonzaga, Farnese, Barberini, and many others, always possessed one or more of them who vied in magnificence with the pope himself. And all this helped to make the Eternal City the scene of much brilliancy. The papal court was the natural centre of all this animation, and many a stately procession wended its way to the Vatican. On one occasion, the Duke of Parma, wishing to compliment a newly elected pope, sent as his representative the Count of San Secondo, who went to his solemn interview followed by a long procession of one hundred and fifty carriages, and appeared before the pontiff with eighteen distinguished prelates in his train. This mad passion for display led to so many evils of all kinds that Urban VIII. prohibited "indecent garments" for both men and women. In the interests of public morality, it was further decreed that women were not to take music lessons from men, and nuns were allowed no other professors than their own companions. Public singing, distinct from religious ceremonies, was a novelty at this time, and women with the gift of song were paid most liberally for their services. Venice was the city most noted for its festivals and carnivals, and here these women were given most generous treatment.

In Florence, as in all the rest of Italy, Spain was taken as "the glass of fashion, the mould of form" for the first part of the century, but the splendor of the court of Louis Quatorze soon caused French fashions to reign supreme. Then, as now, brides were accustomed to dress in white, while married women were given a wide latitude in their choice of colors. At first, widows wore a dress distinctive not only in color but in cut, yet eventually they were to be distinguished by only a small head-dress of black crape. Young women were much given to curling their hair, and at the same time it was the fashion to wear upon the forehead a cluster of blond curls, a petite perruque, which, in the words of an old chronicler, Rinuccini, "is very unbecoming to those whose hair happens to be of another color." From the same authority is derived the following information concerning the women belonging to the under crust of society: "Prostitutes, formerly, all wore an apparent sign which revealed their infamous profession; it was a yellow ribbon fastened to the strings of the hats, which were then in fashion; when hats went out of style, the yellow ribbon was worn in the hair, and if the women were ever found without it they were severely punished. Finally, on payment of a certain tax, they were allowed to go without the ribbon, and then they were to be distinguished by their impudence only." In Florence, women of this class were especially noted for their beauty, and there it was customary to compel them all to live within a certain district.

In the average Florentine household it had been the custom to have three women servants,—a cook, a second girl, and a matrona. This third servant was better educated than the others, and it was her duty, outside of the house, to keep her mistress company, whether she rode in her carriage or went about on foot. At home, she did the sewing and the mending, and generally dressed her mistress and combed her hair. For this work the matrona received a salary of six or seven dollars a month, and it seems to have been usual for her employers to arrange a good marriage for her after several years of service, giving her at that time from one hundred to one hundred and fifty crowns as a dowry. Later in the century, the matrona does not seem to have been so common, and many women went alone in their carriages, while on foot they were accompanied by a manservant in livery. The wealthier ladies of the nobility, however, were accompanied in their conveyances by a donzella, and on the street and in all public places by an elderly and dignified manservant, dressed in black, who was known as the cavaliere. The fashion with regard to this male protector became so widespread that the women of the middle class were in the habit of hiring the services of some such individual for their occasional use on fete days and whenever they went to mass. The further development of this custom and its effect upon public morals in the following century will be discussed on another page.

Busy with all-absorbing questions of dress, etiquette, and domestic management, it does not appear that the women of the seventeenth century in Italy took any great share in public events, although one Italian woman at least, leaving the country of her birth, was placed by fate upon a royal throne. Henry IV. of France, about the year 1600, was hard pressed for the payment of certain debts by Ferdinand I., Grand Duke of Tuscany, as the Medici were still the bankers of Europe, and the French king was owing more than a million louis d'or; but the whole matter was settled in a satisfactory way when Henry gave definite promises to pay within a dozen years. To maintain his credit in the meantime, and to facilitate the payment of the money, the one-time King of Navarre demanded in marriage Marie de' Medici, the niece of the grand duke; it is needless to say that the request was speedily granted, for the pride and ambition of this rich Tuscan family were unlimited, and the memory of that other daughter of the house of Medici, Catherine, who had been Queen of France and mother of three French kings, was still fresh in the minds of all. The wedding ceremony was performed in great splendor, at Florence, Henry sending a proxy to represent him at that time; and then the young bride set out for France, followed by a glittering retinue, and bearing, as her dowry, six hundred thousand crowns of gold. Arriving at Leghorn, they took ship for Marseilles, and then began a triumphal march across the country, cities vying with each other in doing her honor. Cantu tells us that at Avignon, which was still a city under the temporal sway of the pope, Marie was placed in a chariot drawn by two elephants, and given an escort of two thousand cavaliers. There were seven triumphal arches and seven theatres; for it was the proud boast of the residents of Avignon that everything went by sevens in their city, as there were seven palaces, seven parishes, seven old convents, seven monasteries, seven hospitals, seven colleges, and seven gates in the city wall! Several addresses of welcome were delivered in the presence of the young queen, though in this instance the number was hardly seven, poems were read, and she received a number of gold medals bearing her profile upon one side and the city's coat of arms upon the other. Henry had left Paris to come to meet his bride, and it was at Lyons that the royal pair saw each other for the first time. It cannot be said that this first interview was warmly enthusiastic, for the king found her far less beautiful than the portrait which had been sent to him, and he soon came to the sad conclusion that she was too fat, had staring eyes and bad manners, and was very stubborn.

After the birth of a son and heir, who later became Louis XIII., the king neglected his wife to such an extent that she felt little sorrow at the time of his assassination. Then it was, as queen-regent, that Marie for the first time entered actively into political life; but her ability in this sphere of action was only moderate, and she was soon the centre of much quarrel and contention, wherein the unyielding feudal nobility and the Protestants figured largely as disturbing causes. In the midst of these troublous times, the queen had an invaluable assistant in the person of Eleanora Galigai, her foster-sister, whose husband, Concino Concini, a Florentine, had come to France in the suite of Marie, and had subsequently risen to a position of influence in the court. Eventually, he became the Marechal d'Ancre, and his wife was spoken of as la Marechale or la Galigai, for so great was the extent of Eleanora's control over the queen that she was one of the most conspicuous women in all Europe at that time. Gradually, she was criticised on account of the way in which she used her power, and it was alleged that she was overmuch in the company of divers magicians and astrologers who had been brought from Italy, and that the black art alone was responsible for her success. These accusations finally aroused such public hostility that, after a trial which was a travesty upon justice, Eleanora was soon condemned to death, on the charge of having unduly influenced the queen by means of magic philters. Eleanora went to her death bravely, saying with dignity to her accusers: "The philter which I have used is the influence which every strong mind possesses, naturally, over every weaker one."

Not long after this Florentine queen of France was playing her part in public affairs, all Europe was surprised by another woman, whose actions were without parallel and whose case seems to be the opposite of the one just cited. Marie de' Medici left Italy to become a queen, and now a queen is seen to abdicate that she may go to Rome to live. Christine, Queen of Sweden, a most enlightened woman and the daughter of the great Gustavus Adolphus who had brought about the triumph of the Protestant arms in Germany, relinquished her royal robes in the year 1654, announced her conversion to Catholicism, and finally went to Rome, where she ended her days. She was given a veritable ovation on her arrival there, as may well be imagined, for the Church rarely made so distinguished a convert, and Christine, in acknowledgment of this attention, presented her crown and sceptre as a votive offering to the church of the Santa Casa at Loretto. At Rome she lived in one of the most beautiful palaces in the city, and there divided her time between study and amusements. Through it all she was never able to forget the fact that she had been a queen, and many examples might be given of her haughty demeanor in the presence of those who were unwilling to do her bidding. Before leaving Sweden, Christine had tried to gather a circle of learned men about her at Stockholm, and the great French philosopher Descartes spent some months in her palace. Later, when in Paris, on her way to Italy, a special session of the French Academy had been held in her honor, and all of the literary men of France went out to the palace at Fontainebleau while she was domiciled there, to do her honor. Once in Rome, it was her immediate desire to become the centre of a literary coterie, and to that end she was most generous in her gifts to artists and men of letters. Her intelligence and her liberality soon gave her great influence, and before long she was able to organize an Academy in due form under her own roof. She was for many years a most conspicuous figure in Roman society, and at the time of her death, in 1689, Filicaia, a poet of some local reputation, declared that her kingdom comprised "all those who thought, all those who acted, and all those who were endowed with intelligence."

In this seventeenth century, as in the one before, parents were continually compelling their children and especially their daughters to enter upon a religious career, and many of them were forced to this course in spite of their protestations. Cantu tells of the case of Archangela Tarabotti, who was compelled to enter the convent of Saint Anne at Venice, though all her interests and all her ways were worldly in the extreme. To the convent she went, however, at the age of thirteen, because she was proving a difficult child to control, and there she was left to grind her teeth in impotent rage. In common with many other young girls of her time, she had never been taught to read or write, as the benefit of such accomplishments was not appreciated in any general way—at least so far as women were concerned; but, once within the convent walls, from sheer ennui, Archangela began to study most assiduously, and finally published a number of books which present an interesting description and criticism of existing manners and customs in so far as they had to do with women and their attitude toward conventual institutions. Having entered upon this life under protest, her first books were written in a wild, passionate style, and it was her purpose to make public the violence of which she had been a victim, and to prove, by copious references to authorities both sacred and profane, that women should be allowed entire liberty in their choice of a career. Incidentally, she cursed most thoroughly the fathers who compelled their daughters to take the veil in spite of their expressed unwillingness. Perhaps the most important of these protests, which was given an Elzevir edition in 1654, was entitled Innocence Deceived, or The Tyranny of Parents. This special edition was dedicated to God, and bore the epigraph: "Compulsory devotion is not agreeable to God!" Another of these books was entitled The Hell of Convent Life, and these titles are certainly enough to show that she set about her task of religious—or, rather, social—reform with a most fervid, though somewhat bitter, zeal. Naturally, these open criticisms caused a great scandal in ecclesiastical circles, and many vigorous attempts were made to reconcile the recalcitrant nun and induce her to modify her views. Finally, moved by the pious exhortations of the patriarch, Federigo Cornaro, she became somewhat resigned to her fate. Then it was said of her that "she abandoned the pomp of fine garments, which had possessed so great a charm for her," and the records show that the last years of her life were spent in an endeavor to atone for the extravagances of her youthful conduct. A number of devout books were produced by her during this time, and among them the following curious titles may be noticed: The Paved Road to Heaven and The Purgatory of Unhappily Married Women.

A somewhat similar case of petty tyranny, and one which was soon the talk of all Europe, is the pathetic story of Roberto Acciaiuoli and Elizabetta Marmorai. These two young people loved each other in spite of the fact that Elizabetta was the wife of Giulio Berardi; when the latter died, everyone supposed that the lovers would marry, and such was their intention, but they found an unexpected obstacle in their path, for Roberto's uncle, the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, had other views on the subject. It was his desire that his nephew should contract a marriage with some wealthy Roman family whose influence might aid him to become pope. The young man refused to further this project in any way, and insisted upon marrying the woman of his choice; the cardinal, in despair, had to fall back upon the assistance of his ruling prince, Cosmo II., Grand Duke of Tuscany. Cosmo, unwilling to offend this prelate who might some day become the head of the Church, took action in his behalf and ordered that Elizabetta should be confined in a Florentine convent. Thereupon Roberto fled to Mantua, and, after having married her by letter, publicly proclaimed his act and demanded that his wife be delivered up to him. The best lawyers in Lombardy now declared the marriage a valid one, but in Florence the steps taken were considered merely as the equivalent of a public betrothal. So the matter stood for a time, until the pope died and the ambitious cardinal presented himself as a candidate for the pontiff's chair. Then the outraged nephew sent to each one of the papal electors a detailed account of what had taken place, with the result that his uncle's candidacy was a complete failure. Cosmo, moved somewhat by public opinion, which was all upon the side of the lovers, ordered Elizabetta to be released from her captivity, whereupon she joined her husband in Venice, that she might share his exile. They were not allowed to remain there for a long time in peace, however, as Cosmo, smarting under the lash of popular disapproval, decided to make an effort to get them within his power again, that he might wreak his vengeance upon them. Accordingly, he demanded that the Venetian republic should deliver them up, charging that they had been guilty of gross disrespect toward him, their sovereign. Hearing of this requisition, Roberto and Elizabetta, disguised as monks, fled to Germany, but were recognized at Trent and taken back to Tuscany. Acciaiuoli was then deprived of all his property and imprisoned for life in the fortress of Volterra, and his wife was threatened with the same treatment if she persisted in maintaining the validity of the marriage. Worn by all this trouble and persecution, Elizabetta weakened, failed to show the courage which might be expected from the heroine of such a dramatic story, and preferred to live alone for the rest of her days than to spend her life in prison with her devoted husband.

The eighteenth century found Italy still under the control of foreign rulers, and the national spirit was still unborn; public morals seem to have degenerated rather than improved, and then, as always, the women were no better than the men desired them to be. Details of the life of this period are extremely difficult to obtain, as the social aspects of Italian life from the decline of the Renaissance to the Napoleonic era have been quite generally neglected by historians; the information which is obtainable must be derived in large measure from books and letters on Italian travel, written for the most part by foreigners. One of the most interesting volumes of this kind was written by a Mrs. Piozzi, the English wife of an Italian, who had unusual opportunities for a close observation of social conditions; several of the following paragraphs are based upon her experiences.

The most striking thing in the social life of this time is the domestic arrangement whereby every married woman was supposed to have at her beck and call, in addition to her husband, another cavalier, who was known as a cicisbeo and was the natural successor of the Florentine cavaliere before mentioned. Cicisbeism has been much criticised and much discussed as to its bearing upon public morals, and many opposite opinions have been expressed with regard to it. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, who is a most careful and able student of Italian life, has the following to say upon the subject: "He [the cicisbeo] was frequently a humble relative—in every family were cadets too poor to marry, as they could not work for their living, or too sincere to become priests, to whom cavalier service secured a dinner, at any rate, if they wanted one. It was the custom to go to the theatre every evening—the box at the opera was an integral part of the household arrangements, a continuation of the salon—only it could not be reached without an escort. The chaperon did not exist, because a woman, no matter how old, was no escort for another woman, nor could she herself dispense with an attendant of the other sex. A dowager of sixty and a bride of sixteen had equally to stay at home if there was not a man to accompany them. The cavalier's service was particularly in request at the theatre, but he was more or less on duty whenever his lady left her house for any purpose, with the doubtful exception of going to church. No husband outside a honeymoon could be expected to perform all these functions: he, therefore, appointed or agreed upon the appointment of somebody else to act as his substitute. This was, in nine cases out of ten, the eminently unromantic cavalier servitude of fact. The high-flown, complimentary language, the profound bowing and hand-kissing of the period, combined to mystify strangers as to its real significance. Sometimes, when there was really a lover in the question, the cavalier servente must have been a serious impediment; he was always La plante ... a contrecarrer un pauvre tiers, in the words of the witty President de Brosses, who, though he did not wholly credit the assurances he received as to the invariable innocence of the institution, was yet far from passing on it the sweeping judgment arrived at by most foreigners. There is no doubt that habit and opportunity did, now and then, prove too strong for the two individuals thrown so constantly together. 'Juxtaposition is great,' as Clough says in his Amours de Voyage; but that such lapses represented the rule rather than the exception is not borne out either by reason or record."

Mrs. Piozzi is somewhat dubious in regard to this condition of affairs and is hardly disposed to take the charitable view which has just been given, but the general trend of more enlightened comment seems to agree with the Countess Cesaresco. In Sheridan's School for Scandal occur the following lines, which convey the same idea:

LADY TEAZLE.—"You know I admit you as a lover no farther than fashion sanctions."

JOSEPH SURFACE.—"True—a mere platonic cicisbeo—what every wife is entitled to."

Fragments taken somewhat at random regarding the women of several of the more important cities of Italy may serve to give some idea regarding their general position and condition throughout the country at large. Writing from Milan, Mrs. Piozzi says: "There is a degree of effrontery among the women that amazes me, and of which I had no idea till a friend showed me, one evening, from my own box at the opera, fifty or a hundred low shopkeepers' wives dispersed about the pit at the theatre, dressed in men's clothes (per disempegno, as they call it), that they might be more at liberty, forsooth, to clap and hiss and quarrel and jostle! I felt shocked." Venice was, as it had ever been, a city of pleasure. The women, generally married at fifteen, were old at thirty, and such was the intensity of life in this "water-logged town"—as F. Hopkinson Smith somewhat irreverently called it upon one occasion—that a traveller was led to remark: On ne goute pas ses plaisirs, on les avale. Here, as in all parts of Italy for that matter, the conditions of domestic life were somewhat unusual at this time, as it was the custom to employ menservants almost exclusively; as these servitors were under the control of the master of the house, it was quite common for the women to intrust to their husbands the entire management of household affairs. Thus freed from family cares, Venetian ladies had little to occupy their time outside of the pleasures of society. Nothing was expected of them on the intellectual side; they had no thought of education, found no resource in study, and were not compelled to read in order to keep up with society small-talk; so long as they found a means to charm their masculine admirers, nothing more was demanded. Apparently, for them to charm and fascinate was not difficult, for, according to Mrs. Piozzi, "a woman in Italy is sure of applause, so she takes little pains to secure it." Accordingly, the women of Venice seem to have been quite unpretentious in their manners and dress. They wore little or no rouge, though they were much addicted to the use of powder, and their dresses were very plain and presented little variety. "The hair was dressed in a simple way, flat on top, all of one length, hanging in long curls about the neck or sides, as it happens." During the summer season it was the custom literally to turn night into daytime, as social functions were rarely begun before midnight, and it was dawn before the revellers were brought home in their gondolas. At one place in Venice were literary topics much discussed, and that was at Quirini's Casino, a semi-public resort where ladies were much in evidence, and this was but the exception which proved the rule.

Genoa has been thus described: "It possesses men without honesty, women without modesty, a sea without fish, and a woods with no birds," and, without going into the merits of each of these statements, it is safe to say that the state of public morals in this city was about the same as that to be found in any other Italian city. Apropos of the poor heating arrangements in Genoese houses, Mrs. Piozzi makes the following remark, which gives a sidelight upon some of the customs of the place and will interest the curious: "To church, however, and to the theatre in winter, they have carried a great green velvet bag, adorned with gold tassels and lined with fur to keep their feet from freezing, as carpets are not in use. Poor women run about the streets with a little earthen pipkin hanging on their arm filled with fire, even if they are sent on an errand."

In Florence, the art of making improviso verses—which has ever been popular in southern countries—seems to have reached its highest state of perfection during this eighteenth century, and a woman, the celebrated Corilla, was acknowledged to be the most expert in this accomplishment. At Rome, when at the climax of her wonderful career, she was publicly crowned with the laurel in the presence of thousands of applauding spectators; and in her later years, at Florence, her drawing room was ever filled with curious and admiring crowds. Without pretensions to immaculate character, deep erudition, or high birth, which an Italian esteems above all earthly things, Corilla so made her way in the world that members of the nobility were wont to throng to her house, and many sovereigns, en passage at Florence, took pains to seek her society. Corilla's successor was the beautiful Fantastici, a young woman of pleasing personality and remarkable powers of improvisation, who soon became a popular favorite.

Both at home and abroad, Italian women were coming to the fore in musical circles, and no opera in any one of the continental capitals was complete without its prima donna. Among the distinguished singers of this epoch the two most celebrated were Faustina Bordoni and Catarina Gabrielli. Faustina, born in the year 1700, was the daughter of a noble Venetian family, and at an early age began to study music under the direction of Gasparoni; when she was but sixteen, she made her debut with such success that she was immediately given place as one of the greatest artists on the lyric stage. In Venice, Naples, Florence, and Vienna, she displayed such dramatic skill and such a wonderful voice that she was soon acknowledged as the most brilliant singer in Europe. Later, she was brought to London, under the management of the great composer Haendel, and there she finally displaced in the public favor her old-time rival, Cuzzoni. The singer known as Catarina Gabrielli was the daughter of the cook of the celebrated Cardinal Gabrielli; in spite of her low origin, she was possessed of a great though insolent beauty, in addition to her wonderful vocal powers, and her brilliant career in Europe was most exceptional in every way. In Italy, later in Vienna, and even in far-away St. Petersburg, she not only achieved wonderful success as a singer, but by her coquettish ways she contrived to attract a crowd of most jealous and ardent admirers, who pursued her and more than once fought for her favors. During her stay in Vienna, the French ambassador, who had fallen a victim to her charms, became so madly jealous of the Portuguese minister, that he drew his sword on Catarina upon one occasion, and had it not been for her whalebone bodice she would have lost her life. As it was, she received a slight scratch, which calmed the enraged diplomat and brought him to his knees. She would pardon him only on condition that he would present her with his sword, on which were to be inscribed the following words: "Sword of M..., who dared strike La Gabrielli." Through the intervention of friends, however, this heavy penalty was never imposed, and the Frenchman was spared the ridicule which would have surely followed. Catarina, after a long and somewhat reckless career, passed her last years in Bologna, where she died, in 1796, at the age of sixty-six, after having won general esteem and admiration by her charities and by her steadiness of character, which was in notable contrast to the extravagance of her earlier life.

Perhaps the three most distinguished Italian women in all the century were Clelia Borromeo, Laura Bassi, and Gaetana Agnesi. The Countess Clelia was a veritable grande dame, who exerted a wide influence for good in all the north of Italy; Laura Bassi was a most learned and distinguished professor of philosophy at the University of Bologna; and the last member of this illustrious triad, Gaetana Agnesi, became so famous in the scholarly world that her achievements must be recounted with some attention to detail. At the time of her birth, in 1718, her father was professor of mathematics at Bologna, and it appears that she was so precocious that at the age of nine she had such command of the Latin language that she was able to publish a long and carefully prepared address written in that classic tongue, contending that there was no reason why women should not devote themselves to the pursuit of liberal studies. By the time she was thirteen she knew—in addition to Latin—Greek, Hebrew, French, Spanish, German, and several other languages, and was so renowned for her linguistic attainments that she was called, familiarly, the "walking polyglot." When she was fifteen, her father began to invite the most learned men of Bologna to assemble at his house and listen to her essays and discussions upon the most difficult philosophical problems; in spite of the fact that this display of her learning was known to be distasteful to the young girl, it was not until she reached her twentieth year that she was allowed to withdraw from society. In welcome seclusion, she devoted herself to the study of mathematics, and published several mathematical works whose value is still recognized. In 1752 her father fell ill, and, by Pope Benedict XIV., Gaetana was appointed to occupy his professorial chair, which she did with distinction. At her father's death, two years later, she withdrew from this active career; and after a most careful study of theology, she satisfied a long-cherished wish and entered a convent, joining the Order of Blue Nuns, at Milan. She was most actively interested in hospital work and charities of all kinds, and, as her death did not occur until 1799, lived a long life of usefulness.



Chapter XI

Italian Women in the Nineteenth Century

After the torpor and stagnation of the last two centuries, after the self-abasement of the people, and the apparent extinction of all spirit of national pride, the French invasion and domination, under the stern rule of Bonaparte, was a rude awakening. Old boundaries were swept aside, old traditions were disregarded, old rulers were dethroned; everywhere were the French, with their Republican banners, mouthing the great words Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, ravaging and plundering in the most shameless fashion, and extorting the most exorbitant taxes. But the contagion spread—the Italians were impressed with the wonderful exploits of the one-time Corsican corporal, and they, in turn, began to wag their heads in serious discussion of the "rights of man," as the French had done a decade before. For the dissemination of the new ideas, political clubs were organized throughout Italy as they had existed in France, and the whole country was in ferment. Add to that the fact that Napoleon began to levy troops in Italy as soon as his position warranted this action, and that soon Italian soldiers were in all parts of Europe fighting under the French flag, and one can perhaps have some picture of the complete way in which French influences were made to prevail. In this conquered territory the population may be divided into three classes: first, the deposed nobility, who had for the most part left the country; second, the middle class, composed of professional men and the wealthier citizens; and third, the common people. Of these three classes, the second was the one which Napoleon tried in every way to conciliate, for he counted upon its aid in the moulding of public opinion. He had little to do with the departed nobility, the common people were helping him fight his battles, but, if he hoped to occupy Italy permanently, his real appeal had to be made to the educated class. Accordingly, the arts of peace were used in the interests of the god of war; public improvements of all kinds were begun over all Italy, under the supervision of the French officials, canals were built, marshes were drained, academies of learning were founded, commerce was stimulated, schools for girls were started at Milan, Bologna, and Verona in imitation of those which had already been established in France, and, in fact, everything was done to prove to the people that the rule of the French was beneficial to the best interests of the peninsula. Many men of letters were won over by fair promises, and scientific men were, in many instances, so aided in their researches and so loaded with honors that it was difficult to resist the approaches of the emperor; and there resulted much fulsome praise in honor of Napoleon, who was hailed as a veritable god. Some there were, however, who resisted the advances of the conquerors and were loath to see the country so completely in the control of a foreign nation. It is true that Italy was enjoying a great prosperity in spite of the demands made upon it by the French, but this sudden accession of Republican ideas and the consciousness that Italian armies were fighting bravely all over the continent had aroused a national spirit which had lain dormant for centuries; the more far-seeing patriots were already looking forward to a time when Italy might be not only free but independent.

Among those unmoved by French promises were a number of brilliant women, who were outspoken in their hostility, and who gathered about them many of the most able men of the time. Though it is true that the French set the fashions, and in every city it was usual to find that the French officials were eagerly courted by the inhabitants, it is none the less true that in many of these cities there was some small but active centre of opposition, the salon of some gifted woman who was working might and main for the final triumph of the principle of Italian control in Italy. Napoleon had penetration enough to take such opposition at its just valuation. Women had already given him many a mauvais quart d'heure in Paris; Madame de Stael and, later, the beautiful Madame Recamier were forced to go into exile because he feared their power, and here in Italy he resolved not to be caught napping. Among the number of these Italian women who were daring enough to oppose his success, one of the most influential and best known was the Countess Cicognara. Her husband, Count Leopold Cicognara, was an archaeologist of some reputation, who is to-day best known by his Storia della Scultura; he was precisely the type of man whose friendship and good will Napoleon was anxious to obtain. Cicognara kept his distance, however, and in his determination to hold himself aloof from all actual participation in the new order of things he was ably seconded by his wife, who was a most ardent partisan. In Milan her salon was known to be of the opposition, and there gathered all the malcontents, ready to criticise and blame, and wholly refusing their aid in any public matters undertaken under French auspices. Here, at Milan, Madame de Stael came to know the countess in the course of her wanderings through Italy, and, as may readily be imagined, the two women were much drawn to each other by reason of their similar tastes, especially with regard to the political situation. Later, at Venice, the Countess Cicognara was again the centre of a group of free-thinkers, and there it was that she first felt the displeasure of Napoleon. The count had been summoned by him in the hope that he might finally be won over, but Cicognara conducted himself with such dignity that he excited no little admiration for his position of strict neutrality; his wife did not fare so well, inasmuch as she was harshly criticised for her active partisanship. Also, Napoleon caused it to be known that he would look with disfavor upon all who continued to frequent the salon of the countess; the result of this procedure was that of those who had formerly thronged her doors but two faithful ones remained—Hippolyte Pindemonte and Carlo Rosmini, both staunch patriots and men of ability.

After Waterloo and the fall of Napoleon, the French power in Italy was gone, and the Congress of Vienna, which arranged the terms of peace for the allied powers of Europe, restored the Italian states to their original condition, as they were before the Revolution. But the real conditions of Italian life were changed; for the people were now aroused in an unprecedented way, which made a return to the old mode of life impossible except in the outward form of things. The socialistic ideas of the French had gained some foothold in Italy; men and women were waking up to the possibilities which lay before them in the way of helping each other; and charitable and philanthropic works of every kind were undertaken with an interest which was altogether uncommon. As might be expected, women occupied an important place in these various activities and showed much enterprise and zeal in carrying out their plans. The Marchioness Maddalena Frescobaldi Capponi aided in founding at Florence a house of refuge for fallen women; Maria Maddalena di Canossa, in the year 1819, established at Venice and at Verona the Order of the Daughters of Charity, whose task it was to perfect themselves in "love to God and love to man"; and various charitable schools were organized in other parts of the country. At Turin, Julie Colbert di Barolo, the friend of the famous Silvio Pellico, founded the Order of the Sisters of Saint Anne, whose members were to devote themselves to the education of poor girls, training them not only in the usual studies, but also in manners and deportment, and teaching them to be contented with their lot, whatever it might happen to be. The spirit of arts and crafts had ardent supporters at this time, and many endeavors were made to teach the people how to do something which might be of avail in their struggle for life. Among those interested in this movement was Rosa Govona, who had founded a society whose members were called, after her, Les Rosines, and who were bound to support themselves by means of their own work. The Napoleonic campaigns had taken from Italy many men who never returned; thus, there were many women who were left to their own resources, and it was for this class that Rosa Govona was working. The society grew rapidly, branch organizations were established in many cities, and there is no doubt that the movement was productive of much good. Another woman philanthropist of this time was the Countess Tarnielli Bellini, who left quite a large sum of money at Novara for the establishment of several charitable institutions, among them an industrial school.

Rome now became the real centre of Italian life; it was the objective point of every tourist, and it soon gathered together a somewhat heterogeneous population which was to pave the way for that cosmopolitan society which is to-day found in the Eternal City. While this foreign element was growing more important every day, it cannot be said that the members of the old and proud Roman nobility looked upon it with any smile of welcome. Many of the newcomers were artists, sculptors and painters, who were attracted by the wealth of classic and Renaissance art which Rome contained, or they were expatriates for one of a number of reasons. One of the most distinguished women of this foreign colony was Madame Bonaparte, Napoleon's mother, who took up her residence in Rome after 1815, and lived there until 1836, the year of her death. She was a woman of fine presence and great courage, content with a simple mode of life which was quite in contrast with the princely tastes of her sons and daughters. Pauline Bonaparte, the emperor's favorite sister, had lived in Rome for a number of years, as she had married, in 1803, Camillo, Prince Borghese. She was soon separated from her husband, but continued to reside in Rome, bearing the title of Duchess of Guastalla; there she was housed in a fine palace, where she dwelt in a style of easy magnificence. Pauline was one of the most beautiful women of this time, and much of her charm and grace has been preserved in Canova's famous statue, the Venus Victrix, for which she served as model.

The most hospitable palace in all Rome during the first quarter of the century was that presided over by Signora Torlonia, Duchess of Bracciano. Her husband, "old Torlonia," as he was familiarly called, was a banker during the working hours of the day; but in the evening he became the Duke of Bracciano, and no one questioned his right to the title, as he was known to have paid good money for it. He had made princes of his sons and noble ladies of his daughters, and his great wealth had undoubtedly aided his plans. Madame Lenormant says of him: "he was avaricious as a Jew, and sumptuous as the most magnificent grand seigneur," and he seems to have been a most interesting character. He lived in a beautiful palace upon the Corso, wherein was placed Canova's Hercules and Lycas, and there he and his wife dispensed a most open-handed hospitality. Madame Torlonia had been a beauty in her day, and she was a very handsome woman even in her later years. Kind and good-natured, she was like the majority of Italian women of her time—a curious combination of devotion and gallantry. It is related of her that she confided to a friend one day that she had taken great care to prevent her husband's peace of mind from being disturbed by her somewhat questionable conduct, and then added: "But he will be very much surprised when the Day of Judgment comes!" The Torlonia palace was practically the only princely house open to strangers, and it often sheltered a most distinguished company. Among those who were entertained there may be included Thorwaldsen, the great Danish sculptor, Madame Recamier, Chateaubriand, Canova, Horace Vernet, the French painter, and his charming daughter Louise, and the great musician Mendelssohn. The last, in a letter written from Rome in 1831, makes the following allusion to the Torlonias, which is not without interest: "Last night a theatre that Torlonia [the son] has undertaken and organized was opened with a new opera of Pacini's. The crowd was great and every box filled with handsome, well-dressed people; young Torlonia appeared in a stage box, with his mother, the old duchess, and they were immensely applauded. The audience called out: Bravo, Torlonia, grazie, grazie!"

Italy had continued its reputation as the home of music, and now, as in the eighteenth century, Italian singers, men and women, were wearing the laurel in all the capitals of Europe. Among the women who were thus celebrated the best known were Grassini, Catalani, Pasta, and Alboni. Grassini was the daughter of a Lombardy farmer, and the expenses of her musical education had been defrayed by General Belgioso, who was much impressed with her wonderful voice and her charm of manner. Her debut at La Scala was a wonderful success in spite of the fact that she then sang in company with the two greatest Italian singers of the time, Crescentini—one of the last of the male sopranos—and Marchesi. Later, she attracted the attention of Bonaparte, and soon accompanied him to Paris, anxious, it has been said, to play the role of Cleopatra to this modern Caesar. Josephine's jealousy was aroused more than once by this song bird of Italy, but she continued in the emperor's good graces for a number of years, in spite of the fact that she was ever ready to follow the whim of the moment and distributed her favors quite promiscuously. In 1804 she was made directress of the Paris Opera, and some years after, returning from a most wonderful London engagement, she sang in Romeo and Juliet with such effect that the usually impassive Napoleon sprang to his feet, shouting like a schoolboy; the next day, as a testimonial of his appreciation, he sent her a check for twenty thousand francs.

Angelica Catalani first created a stir in the world at the age of twelve, when, as a novice in the convent of Santa Lucia at Gubbio, in the duchy of Urbino, she sang for the daily service in the little chapel with such amazing sweetness that people came from all the neighborhood to listen to her. After some preliminary training, which was undertaken without the entire approval of the girl's father, Angelica was confided to the care of the great teacher Marchesi, who soon put her in the front rank of singers. Her success upon the stage was unquestioned, and her voice was one of the most remarkable in all the history of music, being a pure soprano, with a compass of nearly three octaves,—from G to F,—and so clear and powerful that it rose fresh, penetrating, and triumphant above the music of any band or orchestra which might be playing her accompaniment. Bell-like in quality and ever true, this voice lacked feeling, and while it never failed to awaken unbounded enthusiasm, it rarely, if ever, brought a thrill of deeper emotion.

Giuditta Pasta, who became the lyric Siddons of her age, began her career as an artist laboring under many disadvantages, for she lacked a graceful personality and possessed a voice of but moderate power and sweetness. One thing she did possess in full measure, however, and that was an artistic temperament, which, combined with her unbounded ambition and her ability for hard work, soon brought her public recognition. Her simple but effective manner of singing and her wonderful histrionic ability made all her work dignified and impressive; her representation of the character of Medea, in Simon Mayer's opera by that name, has been called the "grandest lyric impersonation in the records of art." When the great actor Talma heard her in the days of her early success in Paris, he said: "Here is a woman of whom I can still learn. One turn of her beautiful head, one glance of her eye, one light motion of her hand, is, with her, sufficient to express a passion." The whole continent was at her feet—London, Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Vienna showered her with their bravas and their gifts, and her native Italy went wild at her approach. Her last great public performance was at Milan in 1832, when, in company with Donizetti the tenor and the then inexperienced Giulia Grisi, she sang the role of Norma, in Bellini's opera, which was then given for the first time under the baton of the composer himself. Alboni, the wonderful contralto who owed her early advancement and training to the kindly interest of Rossini, Fanny Persiani, the daughter of the hunchback tenor, Tacchinardi, who through her singing did more than any other artist to make the music of Donizetti popular throughout Europe—these and a number of other names might be mentioned to show that Italy was now the fountain head of song, as in the Renaissance it had been the home of the other fine arts.

This account of the triumphs of Italian women upon the continental stage would be wholly incomplete without some reference to the incomparable danseuse La Taglioni, who will always occupy an important place in the annals of Terpsichore. Without great personal charm, her success was due to her wonderful skill, which was the result of the mercilessly severe training that she had received from her father, Filippo Taglioni, who was a ballet master of some repute. Born at Stockholm, where her father was employed at the Royal Opera, she made her debut at Vienna, where she created an immediate sensation. Hitherto ballet dancing had been somewhat realistic and voluptuous, as illustrated by the performances of the celebrated Madame Vestris, but La Taglioni put poetry and imagination into her work, which was more ideal in character, and her supremacy was soon unquestioned. Among her most remarkable performances was the dancing of the Tyrolienne in Guillaume Tell, and of the pas de fascination in Robert le Diable. In this mid-century period dancing occupied a far more important place in opera than it has since, but with the retirement of La Taglioni, in 1845, the era of grand ballets came practically to an end. About her work there seems to have been a subtle charm which no other modern danseuse has ever possessed, and her admirers were to be found in all ranks of society. Balzac often mentions her, and Thackeray says in The Newcomes that the young men of the epoch "will never see anything so graceful as Taglioni in La Sylphide."

With the final accomplishment of Italian unity and the establishment of the court at Rome, there began a new life for the whole country, wherein the position of the ruling family was decidedly difficult. At the outset there was the opposition of the Vatican, for the pope was unwilling to accept the inevitable and relinquish his temporal power with good grace; and there was the greater problem, perhaps, of moulding into one nationality the various peoples of the peninsula. Neapolitans and Milanese, Venetians and Romans, were all so many different races, so far as their history and traditions were concerned, and the task of making them all Italians—which had been put upon the house of Savoy—was fraught with much danger. It is too early yet to know with what complete success this work will be crowned, but it may be safely said that Queen Margharita, wife of Humbert I., did much to bring about that general spirit of good will which has thus far been characteristic of united Italy. Owing to the peculiar conditions of the situation, and the strong local spirit which still endures everywhere, it was soon found that all Italy would be slow in coming to the court at Rome, and so the court decided to go to the country. Royal villas are scattered through the different provinces, and it is customary for the king and his suite to visit them with some frequency. During all this perambulating court life, Queen Margharita became a popular favorite, in no less degree than the king, and their democratic ways soon gained the love and esteem of the people in general. The following incident will show to what extent the queen was interested in the welfare of her subjects and what she was able to accomplish by means of her ready wit. Certain towns along the coast had become very prosperous through the manufacture of coral ornaments of various kinds, and large numbers of women were given lucrative employment in this work until, slowly, coral began to go out of fashion, and then the industry commenced to diminish in importance. It became, in fact, practically extinct, and so great was the misery caused by the lack of work that the attention of the queen was called to this pitiful situation. Instantly, by personal gifts, she relieved the pressure of the moment, and then by deliberately wearing coral ornaments in a most conspicuous way she restored their popularity and at the same time brought back prosperity to the stricken villages. Since the death of King Humbert, Margharita has naturally lived somewhat more in retirement, but she has ever shown herself to be most eager to do everything for her people and especially for the women of Italy. Much progress in educational affairs has been brought about through her influence; and to show her interest in the movement for the physical training of women, which is slowly taking form, she has recently joined an Alpine club, and has done not a little mountain climbing in spite of the fact that she is no longer in the first bloom of youth.

The present queen, Helena of Montenegro, is beginning to enjoy the same popularity, and there is every reason to believe that her reign will continue, in a most worthy way, the traditions left by her predecessor. The conditions attending the marriage of the heir apparent when he was yet the Prince of Naples were such indeed as to win the sympathy and approval of the whole nation. Before this marriage, Crispi, the Italian premier, had tried to arrange for the young prince a match which might have some political significance, and to this end he collected the photographs of all the eligible princesses of Europe, put them together in a beautiful album, and told his young master to look them over and select a wife for himself. The prince gazed at them with but languid interest, however, for these royal maidens were, most of them, strangers to him; he finally announced to the astonished minister that he did not intend to marry until he found a woman he loved! In this resolution he was not to be shaken, and the Princess Helena, whom he made his wife, he saw for the first time at the czar's coronation ceremonies at Moscow, and it was a simple case of love at first sight. Such simplicity and sincerity as are apparent in this real affection of the king and queen for each other cannot fail to have a widespread influence.

The modern Italian woman is not an easy person to describe, as it would be difficult to find one who might serve as a type for all the rest. In general, it may be said that they are not so well educated as the women in many other countries, and that so long as a woman is devout, and at the same time domestic in her tastes, she is considered to possess the most essential requisites of character and attainment. The women of the peasant class work in the fields with the men; in the towns and cities women help in their husbands' shops, as in France, and while they may not always possess the energy and business skill which characterize the French women, they are at least no more indolent and easy-going than their male companions. The women of the nobility are often less educated than their plebeian sisters, and for the most part lead a very narrow and petty existence, which produces little but vanity and selfishness and discontent. There are exceptions, however, and here and there may be seen a gentlewoman who has studied and travelled, and made herself not only a social but also an intellectual leader of distinction.

From a legal standpoint, the position of women differs in the various provinces, for, while the written law may be the same throughout the kingdom, local customs are often widely divergent. Villari, in his recent book on Italian life, says that a woman's property is guaranteed to her by law from any abuse on her husband's part; she has equal rights of inheritance with her brothers, if her parents have made no will; and there are few cases in which her rights are inferior to those of her male relatives. Also, the woman is considered the natural and legal guardian of her children, after the death of her husband. In spite of this legal equality, the old idea of woman's inferior position still crops out, and it is noticeable that a father, in bequeathing his property, rarely leaves it to his daughters, but rather to his sons, and often to the eldest son alone, as in the old feudal days. Social conventions are not unlike those of other southern countries. For the majority of women marriage is the one aim in life, and an unmarried woman is shown little consideration and is the butt of much ridicule. In the northern part of Italy, women are gaining a certain amount of liberty in these latter days, and young girls of the better class may, without causing much comment, go upon the street unattended. In the south, however, the position of women is very different, and they are still regarded in much the same way as are the women of Oriental countries. The long years of Saracen rule are responsible for this condition, which makes the woman little more than the slave of her husband. It is said that in some country districts it is the custom for the husband to lock his wife in the house whenever he goes from home, and the usage is so well established that if the ceremony is omitted the woman is inclined to think that some slight is intended.

With regard to the education of women, the law makes no distinction between the sexes, and practically all schools, classical and technical, under government control, and the universities, are open to both men and women. Special schools, both public and private, have been established exclusively for women, but they are not the rule. With regard to matters of attendance, statistics show that the proportion of women is larger in the universities than in the preparatory schools. As yet, the legal profession is not open to women practitioners, but many have pursued the study of medicine, and there are several who enjoy a large and lucrative practice. With all these advantages, the ordinary woman in Italy to-day rarely possesses what we would call an ordinary education, and there is absolutely no public opinion in favor of it. There are frequent bluestockings, it is true, but they have no influence with the public, and are showing themselves entirely ineffectual in forcing public opinion in this regard.

Though the great singers seem to come from Germany in these modern days, Italy has held a distinguished place upon the boards for the last half-century by reason of its great tragic actresses, Adelaide Ristori and Eleonora Duse. Ristori was beginning her career in the fifties when she went to Paris, where the great Rachel was in the very midst of her triumph; and there in the French capital, in the very face of bitter rivalry, she was able to prove her ability and make a name for herself. Later, in the United States she met with a most flattering reception, and for a season played with Edwin Booth in the Shakespearean repertoire. Duse first came into public notice about 1895, when her wonderful emotional power at once caused critics to compare her to Bernhardt, and not always to the advantage of the great French tragedienne. At one period her name became linked most unpleasantly with that of the young Italian realist Gabriele d'Annunzio.

In modern Italian literature two women stand out conspicuously—Matilda Serao and Ada Negri. The Signora Serao, who began life as a journalist, is to-day the foremost woman writer of fiction in Italy, and her novels, which are almost without exception devoted to the delineation of Neapolitan life, are quite graphic and interesting, though her literary taste is not always good and she sometimes lapses into the commonplace and the vulgar. Also, she inclines somewhat toward the melodramatic, and, like many of her brothers in literature, she is far from free from what may best be termed "cheap sentiment." Ada Negri, who started in her career as a modest school teacher in Lombardy, is a lyric poet of no mean ability. She has taken up the cudgel for the poor and the weak and the oppressed, and so thorough and genuine are her appreciation and understanding of the life of the people, that she seems to have touched many hearts. Singing as she does of the hard lot of the poor, and of the many struggles of life, it is appropriate that the two volumes of her verses which have appeared up to this time should bear the titles Fatalita and Tempeste.

Many other women have acquired honored positions in literature, and woman's increased activity and prominence in all intellectual branches is a condition which may well excite wonder. While from many points of view unfortunately backward, the women of Italy are beginning to realize their more serious possibilities, and it is safe to say that the more advanced ideas regarding woman's work and her position in society, which come as the inevitable consequence of modern civilization and education, will soon bear fruit here as in other parts of the continent.



Part Second

Spanish Women



Chapter XII

The Condition of Spain before the Moorish Invasion

To one whose fancy roves to Spain in his dream of fair women there comes at once the picture of a dark-eyed beauty gazing out discreetly from behind her lattice window, listening to the tinkling sound of her lover's mandolin, and sighing at the ardor of his passion; or again, she may be going abroad, with lace mantilla about her shapely head, armed with her fan,—that article of comfort and coquetry, as it has been called,—which is at once a shield and an allurement as wielded by her deft fingers. With the thought of Spain there comes also the snap of the castanets and the flash of bright-colored skirts as they move in time to the tarantella. All in all, it is the poet's land of beauty and pleasure, music and the dance, with Dolce far niente as its motto, rose-entwined.

Free from the poet's spell, however, and under the guidance of the sterner muse of history, this picture of sweet content vanishes for a time as the more rugged outlines of another and an earlier age attract our attention. Fact and conjecture are somewhat intermingled as they concern the early history of Spain, but enough is known to give us a fairly clear idea of the general condition of the country. The original inhabitants of the peninsula—the Iberians—antedate authentic historical records, but some centuries before the Christian era it is certain that there was a Celtic invasion from the North which resulted in a mingling of these two races and the appearance of the Celtiberians. The life of these early inhabitants was rude and filled with privations, but they were brave and hardy, having no fear of pain or danger, and possessed by the love of liberty. In this primitive society the occupations of the men were almost exclusively those connected with the pursuit of war, and the wives and mothers were given a large measure of domestic responsibility and were treated with great respect. To them was intrusted not only the education of the younger children, but the care of the land as well, and there is nothing to show that they failed in either of these duties. They were more than good mothers and good husbandmen, however, for more than once, in case of need, these early Spanish women donned armor and fought side by side with their husbands and brothers, sword or lance in hand, nothing daunted by the fierceness of the struggle and always giving a good account of themselves in the thick of the battle.

Hannibal's wife was a woman of Spain, it is true, but it is to her less eminent sisters that we must turn in order to discover the most conspicuous cases of feminine bravery and heroism, which are accompanied in almost every instance by a similar record for the men, as the lot of men and women was cast along the same lines in those days, and the national traits are characteristic of either sex. A most fervid patriotism was inbred in these people, and throughout all the long years of Roman conquest and depredation these native Celtiberians, men and women, proved time and time again that they knew the full significance of the Latin phrase which came from the lips of their conquerors—Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori [It is sweet and glorious to die for one's country]. When Hannibal essayed to capture the stronghold of Saguntum, a fortified city on the eastern coast of Spain, and probably of Phoenician origin, he found himself confronted by no easy task. On account of his early residence in Spain and his familiarity with the people and the country, he had found its conquest an affair of no great difficulty for the most part, but here at Saguntum all the conditions were changed. The resistance was most stubborn, in spite of the fact that the besieging force consisted of one hundred and fifty thousand men. Hannibal himself was wounded while fighting under the walls; and when the end came, the fall of Saguntum was due to famine rather than to the force of arms. Then the Saguntines, men, women, and children, were of the opinion that surrender was ignoble, and they all preferred death at the hands of the enemy to any timorous act of submission.

Some thirteen years later, in B. C. 206, the Romans, who were now making a systematic endeavor to subdue the whole country, laid siege to Ataspa; and although the details of the investment of the city are far from complete, the imperfect records of the event show that the force of the enemy was so overwhelming that the inhabitants of the ill-fated city saw at once the futility of a prolonged resistance and resolved to do or die without delay. Accordingly, a small guard was left behind to kill the women and children and set fire to the town, and the rest of the doughty little garrison, with banners waving and bugles sounding in defiance, sallied forth from the city gates, and each man went to his death with his face to the enemy. The thrilling tale of the final capture of the city of Numantia by Scipio Africanus furnishes but further proof of this indomitable courage of the early Spaniards. After a siege and blockade of sixteen months, the Numantians, threatened by famine, and unable to secure terms of honorable capitulation, decided that death was better than the horrors of Roman slavery; and so they killed each other in their patriotic zeal, wives and daughters perishing at the hands of their fathers and their husbands, and the last man, after setting fire to the town, threw himself into the flames. When the Roman conquerors marched through the stricken city they could discover nothing but "ruin, blood, solitude, and horror." By B. C. 72 practically all of Spain had submitted to the Romans, but Pompey found to his surprise that the old Spanish spirit was not entirely dead when he attempted to take possession of the town of Calahorra on the Ebro. The details of the affair almost pass belief. As usual, the defence was dogged; and when the town was threatened with famine, it is said that the men not only killed the women and children, but actually salted their flesh and stored it for future consumption! This was not mere savagery, it was fanatic devotion to a patriotic principle, and there is naught to show that the deed was done under protest from the victims.

The superior organization of the Romans was bound to conquer, however, in the end, and by the time of Julius Caesar the whole country had been subjected. This gradual supremacy of the Romans was accompanied by a gradual dying out of those early, sturdy virtues which had so marked the Spanish people. Life in that pre-Christian era had been rude and uncouth; there was little education or refinement; but there was a certain rugged nobility of character which cannot but command our admiration. The general manners and customs of the time are, for the most part, marked by great decency and purity; women justly merited the respect which was shown them, and the family was recognized as a necessary factor in national strength. As an interesting bit of information which will show, indirectly at least, that women were held in high regard, it may be noted that a number of old coins have been found, coming from this early day, which bear upon one side a woman's head.

The prosperity which came with the advent of the Romans was the result, in great part, of the unexampled peace which the whole peninsula now enjoyed. The mines were worked, the olive groves yielded a rich harvest of oil, the fields were tilled and much Spanish wheat was sent abroad, and, in everything but the mining, the women worked side by side with the men. Flax had been brought to Spain long before by the Phoenicians, and no special attention had been given to its culture; but now matters were quite changed, and the finest linen to be found in all the Western world came from the dexterous hands of the Spanish women. This time of peace and comfort cannot be considered as an unmixed blessing, however; for with the decline of war the sterner virtues languished, and much of that primitive simplicity of an earlier day lost its freshness and naivete and gave way to the subtle vices and corrupt influences which never failed to follow in the wake of Latin conquest. The strength and virility of the nation had been sapped by the Romans, as thousands of Spaniards were forced into the Roman legions and forced to fight their oppressors' battles in many distant lands, and very few of them came home even to die. With this enormous depletion of the male population, it was but natural that there should be a certain mixture of races which was not always an aid to public morals. Marriage between Roman citizens and the women of the so-called barbarian nations was rarely recognized by law; many of the Spanish women, as prisoners of war, were sold into slavery; and with such a social system imposed by the conquerors, it is easy to see that contamination was inevitable.

With the gradual decay of Roman power, the colonial dependencies of this great empire were more and more allowed to fall into the almost absolute control of unscrupulous governors, who did not miss an occasion to levy extortionate taxes and manage everything in their own interests. As the natural result of the raids of the barbarian hordes—the Alans, the Suevians, the Vandals, and the Goths—Spain was losing all that semblance of national unity which it had acquired under Roman rule, and was slowly resolving itself into its primitive autonomous towns. Finally, Euric the Goth, who had founded a strong government in what is now southern France, went south of the Pyrenees in the last part of the fifth century, defeated the Roman garrison at Tarragona, and succeeded in making a treaty with the emperor, whereby he was to rule all Spain with the exception of the Suevian territory in the northwest. Now begins that third process of amalgamation which was to aid in the further evolution of the national type. First, the native Iberians were blended with the early Celtic invaders to form the Celtiberian stock, then came the period of Roman control, to say nothing of the temporary Carthaginian occupancy, and now, finally, on the ruins of this Roman province, there rose a Gothic kingdom of power and might. The foundations of Roman social life were already tottering, for it had been established from the beginning upon the notion of family headship, and the individual had no natural rights which the government was bound to respect, and, all in all, it was little calculated to inspire the esteem and confidence of the proud Spaniard, who prized his personal liberty above all else. In literature and in art Roman influences were dominant and permanent, but, as Martin Hume says: "The centralizing governmental traditions which the Roman system had grafted upon the primitive town and village government of the Celtiberians had struck so little root in Spain during six centuries, that long before the last legionaries left the country the centralized government had fallen away, and the towns with their assembly of all free citizens survived with but little alteration from the pre-Roman period."