Chapter XV: The Old Cabinet Tells Its Story

A few weeks passed with no excitement except Cynthia's withdrawal from the Amen Corner. Madame was very indignant when Mr. Mudge reported Cynthia's part in inviting the boys to attend our Catacomb party, and assisting them in entering and disguising themselves. It was rumoured that Cynthia was to be publicly expelled as a terrible example to all would-be offenders. She remained closeted in her room, whence the sound of weeping and wailing could be heard behind her locked door, but she steadily refused all overtures of sympathy on our part. We waited upon Madame in a body, and begged her to pardon Cynthia. Madame replied that she would consider the matter, and we hurried back and shouted the hopeful news through Cynthia's keyhole. There was no reply.

"Do you think she has killed herself?" Milly asked in an awestruck whisper.

I applied my ear closely and heard stealthy steps. "She merely wishes to be let alone," I said; "perhaps we are a little too exuberant in our expressions of sympathy."

Miss Noakes entered presently and announced that Madame wished to see Cynthia; and that young lady went, with a very red nose, turned up at a very haughty angle. She returned shortly, and addressing herself to Adelaide, as she always did, even when she had something which she wished to communicate to the rest of us, said scornfully:

"Miss Armstrong, will you kindly say to the other young ladies [we were all present], that Madame has just told me that I am indebted to you for permission to remain and graduate with the class."

A murmur of satisfaction ran around the room.

Cynthia's eyes flashed fire. "Do not imagine for one moment," she exclaimed, "that I would accept your hypocritical condescension, if I believed that it had been offered."

"Don't you believe that we interceded with Madame?" Winnie asked.

"I believe," Cynthia replied, "that you have done the best you can, by tale-bearing, to induce Madame to expel me, and have not succeeded; and as I do not wish to associate with you any longer, I have written my parents asking them to withdraw me from the school."

"I am sure no one will regret your departure," Adelaide replied, with indignation. But Cynthia did not leave the school. Either her parents were too sensible to take her away just before her graduation, or her remark had been merely an idle threat. Madame gave her a room in another part of the building, and her place in the Amen Corner remained vacant for the rest of the term.

Winnie had finished her essay, and one evening we gathered in the little study parlor to hear her read it. The time for our parting was now very near, and we were all more or less sentimentally inclined. The old Amen Corner was very dear to us. Every piece of furniture had its associations, but none of them were quite so tragical as those which clustered around the old oak cabinet, and it seemed only fitting that Winnie should celebrate it in her parting essay. She apologized for the length of her paper. "Don't think, girls," she explained, "that I intend to read all this at commencement. I am going to ask Madame to make selections from it. The task that Professor Waite set me was to give a picture of Florentine life in the early part of the sixteenth century, and to bring in the characters who lived then as naturally as I could--Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, Fra Bartolommeo, the Medici, Macchiavelli, Bibbiena and his niece, and others. While I was writing, my imagination carried me away, and I gave it free rein. You are the only ones who will have the full dose."

We were very willing to hear it all. Winnie sat in the great comfortable wicker armchair with the lamplight gloating o'er her mischievous face. Adelaide had ensconced herself on the window seat, her classical profile clear cut against the night. Milly nestled on a cushion at her feet, and I had stretched myself luxuriously on the old lounge, and watched the others from the shadowy side of the room. Milly occasionally patted the cabinet at her side as Winnie referred to it.

The flickering light almost seemed to make the carved faces with which it was decorated grin sardonically, or knit their brows with threatening scowls, as Winnie read:

"I am the ghost of the cabinet, Giovanni de' Medici they called me, in 1475, when the drops from the font fell on my forehead in the Baptistry in Florence, and Leo X, when in 1513 I was made Pope of Rome. I was the second son of Lorenzo the Magnificent, Christianly christened as a babe and created Abbot of Fontedolce at the age of seven and Cardinal at seventeen, for my father was convinced, since the eldest son must carry down the family glory in succession, for me promotion lay only in the way of the Church.

"Nevertheless, I held, as it were, to that plough but with one hand, continually looking back, and ready to drop it altogether, so that, while I enjoyed the rank and revenue of a prince of the Church, I was not made a priest with vows of celibacy until the papacy was as good as in my hand, and until I had been determined thereunto by the closing to me of a fair pathway which led in quite another direction. For of my father's choice for me I might have said:

"For that my fancy rather took
The way that led to town,
He did betray me to a lingering book,
And wrap me in a gown.

"None but the readers of this confession know of my lost love or fancy that I was capable of any passion save the ambition to reinstate my family in its ancient position of glory in Florence. Cardinal though I was, I yet played the spy and the thief to get at the opinions of Florentines of note and influence, and one of my confederates in my schemes was a certain carved oak cabinet, which stood in the library of the palazzo of my nephew by marriage, Filippo Strozzi. This Strozzi was a man so well regarded in Florence, that although he espoused Maddalena de' Medici, the daughter of my banished brother Piero, yet was he never suspected of any plots to advance our family, and lived even with great freedom and popularity, keeping open house to all the literati of the city.

"My niece, who shared not altogether the republican sentiments of her husband, and in whom family affection was most deeply rooted, did sometimes entertain me after my banishment when my presence in Florence was not known by the Florentines in general or even to her most worshipful spouse. At such times I had for my bedchamber a little room partitioned only from the library of which I have spoken by heavy hangings of tapestry. Against this tapestry, on the library side, was set the oak cabinet, which was also a desk for writing, and here my nephew, Filippo Strozzi, was accustomed to write his letters. Hearing the scratch of his pen when he little suspected my neighbourhood, filled me with such an itching desire to know what he wrote, that one night after he had finished his writing, and had left the room, I slipped into the library, and found that, having completed his epistle, he had laid it inside the cabinet, and that this was without doubt the usual rendezvous for the letters of the family while awaiting the time for the departure of the post, for other letters, sealed and directed and ready for the sending, lay on the same shelf. On further examination of the cabinet I found that its back was a sliding panel, and that by cutting through the tapestry with my penknife I could open the cabinet from my own room, and abstract any letters which might have been placed within it under surety of lock and key. This seemed to me a most providential circumstance, for not only did my nephew write his letters here, but other guests of the house had the same custom, and it was most convenient for me thus to become acquainted with their secret opinions.

"I had another motive for lingering in Florence besides my political schemes, for as I have said I had not at this time so irrevocably fastened upon myself the vows of the church that they could not be shaken off, and I was greatly enamoured of the niece of the merry Cardinal Bibbiena, the incomparable Maria, whom I had met before my brother's banishment at his court in Florence, she being a maid in waiting to his wife and greatly attached to her.

"Maria Bibbiena came frequently to visit my niece Maddalena Strozzi; and my niece, knowing my passion, gave me opportunity of meeting her, and I thought that I sped well in my wooing until the cabinet told me otherwise. My cabinet told me no lies, for Count Baltazar Castiglione, a most polished man of the world, and guarded in his spoken opinions of others, opened his mind most frankly in a letter to his friend and confidante, the gentle and witty Vittoria Colonna, which he wrote in that room and left in my power, and which was expressed with a freedom which he would never have allowed himself had he fancied that it would ever have fallen under my eye.

"I had one friend in Florence in whom I trusted, Niccolo Macchiavelli. I admired his statecraft and his policy, and I deemed him devoted to our family, but a letter from his own hand, obtained in like manner with the others, showed him to be two-faced and treacherous to all who trusted him--to the Medicis and to Strozzi, whose hospitality he scrupled not to abuse. It would seem at first sight that my thefts of letters were of service to me; but I was never able to really profit by them, and the knowledge which the letters gave me of the perfidy or dislike of their writers caused me only fruitless indignation and lasting pain, while the habit into which I had fallen of suspecting, prying, and stealing grew upon me day by day, till even death itself was powerless to correct it. When will mankind learn that habit can be so deeply fixed as to follow us beyond the portals of death.

"The old cabinet and I have been so long partners in guilt that my erring ghost visits it as of old, abstracting from it whatever is left to its treacherous keeping. I give back herewith the letters, and when this confession shall have been publicly read, I will render the moneys which I have more lately filched, and then my troubled spirit will be laid at rest. For I was not a great villain.

"Witch Winnie lied when she said I stole from this cabinet the freedom of the city of Florence, which my father writ out and placed here after the last visit of the unmannerly monk, Savonarola. I pardoned the enemies of our family in the day of my triumph, and I pardoned Raphael, yea, and befriended him and loved him, since he wronged me unwittingly; and none grieved more than I when we buried him beside his Maria, whom I fain would have called my own. And so, having forgiven those who have trespassed against me, and now making restitution, may I also be pardoned for filching these few letters, whereof the first was from:

"_Count Baltazar Castiglione to the Excellent Lady Vittoria
Colonna, Marchesa di Pescara, at Naples._

"FLORENCE, 15th October, 1504.

"MOST WORSHIPFUL MADONNA AND ADMIRED FRIEND:

"I feel myself highly flattered in that you express yourself
satisfied with my Cortigiano (which I caused to be writ out at
your request), and which endeavoured, in some slight way, to
reproduce the facetious pleasantry joined to the strictest morals
which subsist at the Court of Urbino. And I deem your request for
a like picture of Florentine society as a most pleasing proof that
I have not been hitherto wearisome to you.

"In Florence, since the passing of the rule of the Medici, there
has been a passing away also of all standards of aristocracy, so
that many of the old families hang their heads in political
disgrace, and there be many upstart ones who flaunt and wanton in
gorgeousness of apparel. Neither is it possible to say what will
be the outcome of this state of social incertitude. I have adopted
what seemed to me a safe rule, and have paid my court neither to
birth nor to fortune, but to genius. For it is not to be gainsayed
that there is gathered in Florence at this time a remarkable
circle of learned and clever men, who form, as it were, an order
of aristocracy by themselves.

"I paid my respects first to Maestro Pietro Perugino, my sometime
friend at Urbino, and whom we there regarded as the very cream and
quintessence of painting. He has a home here, living in a goodly
and comfortable state, but has grown somewhat crabbed and soured,
as happens to men who feel themselves out of fashion and forgotten
of the world. He has a rival here, one Michael Angelo, and
Perugino having criticised a cartoon which this fellow had set
up, representing I know not what absurdity, of bathing soldiers,
Angelo replied that he considered Perugino to be a man ignorant in
art matters. Which saying so cut to the quick my friend that he
somewhat inconsiderately went to law upon the matter, where he
gained scant salve for his bruises, being dismissed with the
decree that the defendant had only said what was not to be denied.

"This discourteous fellow Angelo formeth the greatest contrast to
Leonardo da Vinci, now the leading artist of Florence, in whom the
word gentleman hath as full a showing as in any noble living. His
fortune is sufficient to his tastes (which are of no niggard
order), and his audience chamber is frequented by the nobles, the
wits, the fashion, the learning, and beauty of the day.

"But truly, I must not further speak of this paragon, this
florescence of his day and generation, or I shall have no space in
which to make mention of lesser luminaries, and especially of my
young friend, Raphael Santi of Urbino, who is also visiting at
this time in Florence. Raphael, while he accords to da Vinci a
full meed of praise, and goes daily to sketch from his masterpiece
in the Palazzo Vecchio, and while he is as free from envy as an
egg from vitriol, yet surprised me by this wondrously assuming
assertion, greatly at variance with his usual modesty. 'My dear
Baltazar,' said he, 'keep the sketches and miniature I have made
for thee. They will one day be as valuable as though signed by da
Vinci!' Truly, presumption dwelleth in the heart of youth, but
experience with the world will drive it far from him.

"I am writing this at the Palazzo Strozzi, where I am for the time
a grateful guest. Mine host and friend Filippo gave recently an
artistic supper, the guests being either artists or lovers of that
guild, whether patricians, such as Giocondo, Nasi, Soderini, and
others; or scriveners, as Vasari, Macchiavelli, and Guicciardini,
and churchmen, as Bibbiena, and Bembo; for all Florence will have
its finger in this art pie, and they who have not the wit to paint
or the money to purchase, affect superior knowledge, and wag their
tongues in dispraise. Finding myself partitioned off between two
of these worthies, I should have died of weariness had I not
closed my ear on the one side to the borings of Macchiavelli (who
had it upon his mind that Giovanni de' Medici was in Florence,
and would have fain tortured from me his hiding place), and on
the other from the sleep-producing maunderings of Vasari, who
delivered himself of condemnatory criticisms on Raphael. I would
not for the world have awakened him to questions by a hint that I
already knew more of Raphael than he was like to know in his whole
life, but I suffered him to wander on, straining my ears the while
to catch some shreds of a merry story with which the Cardinal of
Santa Maria in Portico (Bibbiena) was setting his end of the table
in a roar. Supper being ended, I marked that the Cardinal drew
Raphael's arm within his own, and leading him to the garden, there
left him with his niece Maria, a most sweet and loving damsel, and
one exceptionally endowed by nature; for neither in Florence nor
in the various outlandish cities which it hath been my hap to
visit in the character of diplomatist, have I found in any five
ladies, saving in yourself, worshipful madame, such gentleness,
sprightliness, and wit as is bound up in one bundle in the person
of Maria Bibbiena.

"Madonna Maddalena Strozzi has confided to me that her uncle
Giovanni de' Medici was in time past so greatly enamoured of this
same Maria that he would fain have given up the Church. This were
madness indeed on his part, since the wisest policy for any of
that family is to keep himself from political ambition, than which
there would seem to be no more convincing evidence to the vulgar
than devotion to a life of celibacy and monkish austerity; a
renouncing of the world, its pomps and vanities, and especially of
family alliances and succession plots, friendships, betrothals,
marriages, and the like; which, if they be not fooleries of
youthful passion, savour of worldly ambition.

"All of this I imparted as my opinion to my hostess, but she
sighed so deeply as to show that her sympathies are with her
love-lorn uncle. After this we were bidden by her husband to an
upper room, where was displayed a picture of Raphael's.

"But to report the critiques which followed would be greatly
wearisome to your ladyship, and so I kiss your hands, beseeching
our Lord to make you as happy as you are pious.

"Your sincere friend and servitor,
"BALTAZAR CASTIGLIONE.

"_Maria Bibbiena to the Lady Alfonsina Orsini Medici, wife of
Piero de' Medici, in Exile at Urbino._

"FLORENCE, October 12, 1504.

"MOST MAGNIFICENT, NOBLE, AND UNFORTUNATE LADY:

"For whom my tears cease not to fall, and my heart to long after
with true devotion.

"Truly, madame, whatever may have been your heavy and sore trials
in separation from your beloved Florence, you cannot have
experienced more poignant smart than that which wrings the heart
of your little friend, who in lonesomeness and delaying of hope
counts the days of your absence. My uncle's friend, Messer
Macchiavelli, who passes for a man of deep designs, raised my
hopes at one time by whispering that there was a plot to bring you
back. But nothing came of it, and instead we were given up to the
dreadful Piagnoni, so that my uncle, than whom there never was
a more jocund man, so long as he was chancellor to your most
worshipful husband, was forced to abandon politics and even for a
time to hang his head in sadness. But having returned from Rome
with a cardinal's hat, since the death of Savonarola, I discern
some faint return to his old cheerfulness.

"I was minded of you anew but recently. You will doubtless
remember Madonna Lisa Giocondo. She is now having her portrait
painted by Maestro da Vinci. It is his manner to invite light and
diverting society to his studio to converse with and cheer the
lady during her sitting, and to strive to bring to her lips a
certain marvelous smile about which he is mightily concerned. Now
it chanced that Maestro da Vinci heard that I played upon the lute
at your court, in former days, and so he persuaded my uncle to
bring me to his studio to play for the diversion of Mona Lisa.
Presently there came in with Count Castiglione a young man of a
most beautiful countenance, a divine tenderness suffusing his
eyes; and a smile of such heavenly sweetness upon his lips, that
methought that of Mona Lisa but an affected simper in comparison.
After greeting us he remained a long time in a muse, his eyes
fastened upon the canvas. Mona Lisa, perceiving that his entranced
gaze was not so much in admiration of her beauty as in delight at
the skill of the painter, took her departure, in some pique, while
Maestro da Vinci waited upon her to the door. Raphael Santi, for
so is this young man called, turned to me and spoke of the genius
of da Vinci. After that the Maestro brought forward a portfolio of
sketches and we overlooked them together. I mind me there was one
drawing of the Madonna seated in the lap of Sta. Anna, caressing
the infant Christ, who, in his turn, was toying with a lamb. And
the younger artist said that what pleased him most in da Vinci's
paintings was the lovingness which he displayed, as here Sta.
Anna was beaming proudly and graciously upon her daughter, who
playfully and tenderly yearned over her son, who as charmingly
petted his little lamb. And many more things he said, so sweetly,
and with such courteous and gentle behaviour, that I wondered not
that he was called Saint Raphael, for indeed he seemed unto me as
one of the company of the blessed.

"But with all this I have not told you why it was that this should
remind me of you. It was because I was told that he was from
Urbino, and because he was able to give me comfortable tidings
concerning you, which did not a little solace and unburden my
heart.

"After this I met him several times in the outer cloisters of San
Marco, whither I went first by chance with my uncle, who had some
business with the prior of the convent, and who left me to wait
for him in this place, which is assigned to the laity.

"Presently, while I waited here, Raphael came hastily in, having
just completed his lesson in colouring with the Fra Bartolommeo,
an artist who turned monk under the preaching of Savonarola, and
whom Raphael has chosen as master during his stay in Florence. He
told me somewhat of this good monk; how when he was a talented and
rising young man, with life and ambition all before him, he gave
his paintings to the flames with which the Piagnoni consumed the
vanities of this world in the public streets, because he feared
lest he loved his art more than God. But since he has renounced
the world, the Prior has told him that he can best serve the
Church by painting altar-pieces, so that his cell is changed to a
studio, and God has granted him such access of genius that he
paints more divinely than before, and churches and monasteries in
Venice and other distant cities send daily for his paintings. But
he knows not where they go, nor how much money they bring the
convent, for he paints only for the love of God.

"Raphael told me also of the heavenly frescoes of Fra Angelico,
with which the walls of the passages and even the cells of the
convent, are covered, and he added, 'Truly, I think that Art and a
monastic life wed well together, and I would willingly retire to
some cloistered garden afar from the world, if I might carry my
box of colours with me, and might sometimes see in a vision a face
like thine to paint from!'

"Then was I seized with a foolish timidity, so that I could in no
wise answer, but my heart said, 'And why afar from the world, why
not in it, making all things better and happier?'

"Ah! sweet lady, I know you will say, 'My little Maria is grown
wondrous foolish and love-sick'; but I pray you chide me not,
seeing that the matter cannot grow further, for I am not likely
again to meet with Raphael, since I have come to visit for some
days, on invitation of your sweet daughter Madonna Maddalena
Strozzi. Nor were it best that I should see him often, for I do
fear me that in such case my heart might become so rashly pitched
and fixed upon him that I should in time most inconsiderately fall
in love, which were a bold and unmaidenly thing to do; and I mind
me that you were wont to tell me that no woman should allow her
affections to conduct themselves thus insubordinately, until the
church hath by the sacrament of marriage given her license
thereto.

"And so, madame, praying Maria Sanctissima and Maria the sister of
Lazarus, my patroness, to keep me constant in this mind, I rest
your loving friend and devoted servitor,

"MARIA BIBBIENA.

"_Niccolo Macchiavelli to Bramante, Architect to Pope Julius I, at
Rome_:

"MESSER BRAMANTE MIO:

"We have no longer any politics in Florence. The Medici trusted
to the luck of their name; but Florence would have none of them,
and Piero had not the head for his position. He might have had the
advantage of my brains if he had so chosen; but he had not the wit
to appreciate wit. The Magnificent was right when he said that he
had three sons, the one good, the second crafty, the third a fool.
The good die young: Piero, the fool, has lost his inheritance; it
remains for the crafty Giovanni to make good the prestige of his
family. The chances are against him, but if he has something
better than maccaroni under his tonsure, he will make the Church
his ladder to power. I thought at one time that Savonarola was
perhaps shrewder than he seemed, and that he would succeed in
tumbling Alexander out of the Papal Chair and in taking his seat
therein as the Pope Angelico. But it seemed that the dolt never
cared for the Papacy, but only for saving souls! I fear no such
cause of defeat for a Medici, but I hear rumours concerning
Giovanni which make me fear that he is not crafty enough for
success. He has been dissolute; that is no hindrance to a
cardinal's hat or even to the tiara; the folly I dread is more
fatal. They say that he has reformed his life and is thinking of
marriage. If this is true, I renounce his cause in favor of that
of Caesar Borgia, who has the audacity of a lion joined to the
rascality of a fox, and who is not hindered from the putting in
practice of my principles by any so cowardly and stupid a thing as
a conscience. And yet they say that his superb physical manhood is
now a wreck, bloated and permeated through and through with the
subtle poison which his family alone knows how to prepare, and
whose effects they can only partially eradicate. Savonarola,
Borgia, Medici, blunderers all! What name will the next wave bring
to the surface?

"But a truce to politics. You know this is a subject from which I
can no more keep my thoughts than a greedy urchin can forbear
thrusting his fingers into a pot of comfits. I am not so absorbed
in my favourite pastime, however, but I can take an interest in
all that interests my friends, especially in such matters as are
flavoured with a spice of intrigue, than which no condiment soever
is better suited to my palate. Touching, therefore, the matter
concerning which you wrote me, I think that you, as chief
architect to his Holiness, have indeed cause to fear the rivalry
of Michael Angelo, for I am credibly informed that he is minded
presently to journey toward Rome. Moreover, since it is the
practice of popes to be always meddling with works of art, marring
and defacing the excellent things done in the Pontificates of
those preceding them,--when they cannot improve upon them,--and
whereas they are a whimsical lot, not long contented with one
object or one workman, be he ever so excellent, you have
sufficient cause, I say, to fear, having now continued in favour
for some time, that this Michael Angelo will supplant you in the
favour of his Holiness. I would suggest, therefore, that you
search about for some new artist, who shall occupy himself with a
line of work as fresco painting, not in any way interfering with
your own architectural designs, but rather depending upon them;
and that you make haste to introduce him to the Pope, and if
possible ingratiate him into his favour that, his mind being taken
up with this new favourite, and his purse lightened by the
dispensing of moneys for these new works, he will be less inclined
to look favourably upon a new architect such as Michael Angelo.
And inasmuch as it seemeth to me that this thing requireth haste,
I have looked about me somewhat in Florence to find a man suited
to your occasions.

"I first bethought me of Leonardo da Vinci as being the successful
rival of Michael Angelo in this city, and against whom he could
not for a moment contend. But da Vinci hath no drawings toward
Rome. I have marked for a long time that he cutteth his doublet
after the French fashion. Trust me, he is no man for us; he would
rather trip it merrily with French dames than wear out his knees
on the cold scagliola of the Vatican. I have bethought me also
that Leonardo is too old and subtle for you; you need a man whom
you can manage; who shall look up to you as a patron and as a
superior. My eye hath lately fallen upon a youngster of surprising
talent as a painter, a stranger in Florence, of no great
influence, and utterly unknown to fame. He hath as yet no great
opinion of himself; make haste to secure him before others shall
enlighten him as to his merits. This youth is called Raphael
Santi, and I make sure that the pope will greatly prefer this
silken dove to that porcupine Angelo.

"I would the more willingly see him advanced in some foreign city
in that my good friend Cardinal Bibbiena seems desirous with all
expedition to get him forth from Florence, and yet it is not so
much from a desire to pleasure Bibbiena, as from a conviction that
I have found here a tool of proper service to thee, that I thus
recommend him to thy good offices.

"To conclude, my Bramante, make all speed to inform his Holiness
that the walls of the Vatican are cracked, smoky, filthy, and
disgraceful, and above all things fetch thy Raphael quickly and
gain for him a personal interview; for I trust more to the charm
of his presence than to volumes of thy bungling speech.

"And when thou hast need of further counsel, or seest that the
pope desireth an Ahithophel,--now the counsel of Ahithophel which
he counselled in those days was as if a man had enquired at the
oracle,--why send then and fetch thy ever loving and honest
friend,

"MACCHIAVELLI.

"FLORENCE, October 12, 1504.

"_Maria Bibbiena to the Lady Alfonsina Orsini Medici, wife of
Piero dei Medici, at Urbino_:

"FLORENCE, October 15, 1504.

"MOST MAGNIFICENT, MOST BELOVED, AND MOST SWEET LADY:

"Since I last made bold to write you of my small matters, others
more weighty to me have transpired, which, as I have made a
beginning, I will also make an end in the way of their narration.
And first I have met with a small disquietness from your
highness's brother-in-law, the Cardinal, concerning whose presence
in Florence I had not heard. For yestreen, when I was playing upon
my lute in the garden of the palazzo of your daughter, Madonna
Strozzi, he came upon me suddenly walking with your daughter.
Whereat he seemed at first taken all aback, but the Lady Maddalena
exclaimed, 'A new Petrarch, and new Laura,' and commanded him on
his fame as a scholar to make some rhymes on that subject. Whereat
he replied that if I would continue playing he would write, as his
patron, St. Cupid, gave him utterance, and with that he improvised
and wrote out the nonsense herewith following:

"In all Avignon's gardens the nightingales were mute
As at her open casement she played upon her lute.
The lonely scholar Petrarch wandered all listlessly;
'The old man with the hour-glass has sure some grudge 'gainst me.
The sands they fall so sluggishly that tell the flight of time;
My studies all are tedium, and weariness my rhyme.'
'Twas then the Lady Laura, with lips like ripened fruit,
And lily-petalled fingers, full sweetly touched the lute.
The lonely Petrarch listened, as she sang, so sweet and low,
A soft love-laden sonnet, writ by Boccaccio.
Till Cupid snatched the hour-glass from loitering Father Time,
And Petrarch's life was all too short to tell his love in rhyme.

"After the reading, our lady daughter would have me crown the
poet, but this I would in no manner consent unto. Nay, I even
flung down my lute in vexation of spirit, and ran away to another
part of the garden. But I gained nothing thereby, for Giovanni
pursued after me and came up with me at the fountain, where he
caught my hand and would in no wise restore my freedom till he had
delivered his mind of what lay thereon, namely, that he sought me
for his wife. Whereupon I told him very plainly that I knew that
he had been bred up for the Church, and that it were disloyalty to
his brother, your highness's husband, and to his nephew, your son
Lorenzo, for him to think of marriage and a worldly life, for by
so doing the Medici interest would be divided. But he said that if
I would but be his wife he would relinquish all claim to political
power and Lorenzo should not fear for his succession, for he would
go with me to dwell in foreign parts. And while I sought in the
corners of my mind for some answer which should convince him of my
utter lothness, and yet not offend so noble a gentleman, came
suddenly your daughter to warn him that others were entering the
garden; but ere he went he kissed a rose and tossed it to me
saying, 'This rose comes not from Giovanni the Cardinal, but
Giovanni the soldier, for henceforth go I to fight the French and
to win my bride.'

"Scarcely was he gone than I tore the rose in pieces, wroth that I
had been so tongue-tied in his presence. And while I shred the
petals all about me, I was aware of Raphael coming to meet me, and
holding in his hand a lily such as we see in the pictures of the
Virgin, which lily he placed in my hand, saying:

Sicut lilium inter spinas
Sic Maria inter filias.

"And as he saw me to tremble with the vexation and the disquiet of
my interview with the gay cardinal, he most courteously and gently
inquired the cause of my discomfort, and did so comfortably avail
to assuage my distress that I presently forgot it. He told me also
that since he had known me he had so grown into an affection for
the name of Maria, that he had resolved to devote his life, in so
far as choice should be vouchsafed him, to the painting of Maria
Sanctissima. And many other things he said which it is not meet
nor proper that I should write out here. Suffice it that you, who
love your dear lord, can well understand my present joyful state,
and why it is that the nuns, singing now the canticle for the
Feast of the Purification in the convent next to the palazzo, seem
to be addressing their song to me:

Gaude, virgo gloriosa!
Super omnes speciosa!

"For happiest of all Virgins is thy little

"MARIA.

"It was this last letter which broke my heart, and yet did not so much break as bend it so that I gave up the hope which I could no longer keep not in bitterness or in wrath, and resigned myself to my destiny as monk and pope; when Maria Bibbiena died, all too early, I wept not my own shattered future alone, but Raphael's as well, and so took him to my heart, though he knew not the reason, and so I beseech the efficacious prayers of all Christians for all true lovers.

"_Et pro nobis Christum Exora._

"GIOVANNI DE' MEDICI,
"_The Ghost of the Cabinet._"