DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.42861#0137
DEATH OF LEONORA
103
be of good courage for his sake. The warmth of
Francesco’s affection for Isabella was evidently in-
creased, not only by gratitude for her good offices
with the Venetian Signory, but by the hopes of an
heir which she had begun to entertain.
In July, the Marchesa tore herself reluctantly
away from her sister-in-law to visit her mother,
whose health was giving her family anxiety, and
spent a month at Ferrara. It was the last time
that she ever saw the good Duchess, who died on
the 11th of October of a gastric fever which carried
her off in a few days. Francesco Gonzaga hastened
to Ferrara, but gave orders that the sad news should
be kept from the Marchesa until his return. But
when no letters came from the Duchess for a whole
week, Isabella’s fears were aroused, and she heard
from a Milanese correspondent, “ who,” as Capilupi
wrote to the Marquis, “ must have been either very
imprudent or still more wicked,” that her beloved
mother had been dead three days. Happily no harm
was done, and after the first outburst of grief Isabella
showed her usual good sense and self-control. The
highest honours were paid to the dead Duchess both
at Ferrara and at Mantua. The saintly friar, Bernar-
dino da Feltye, preached the funeral sermon, young
Ariosto wrote an elegy on her death, and Latin
orations were pronounced by some of the most dis-
tinguished humanists of the day. But more touch-
ing than any of these pompous tributes was a letter
in which Battista Guarino poured out the grief of
his soul to his old pupil.
“ If I had a hundred tongues, dearest lady,” he
wrote, “ I could not express the grief which I feel at
the death of our Madonna. I long to fly to you and
103
be of good courage for his sake. The warmth of
Francesco’s affection for Isabella was evidently in-
creased, not only by gratitude for her good offices
with the Venetian Signory, but by the hopes of an
heir which she had begun to entertain.
In July, the Marchesa tore herself reluctantly
away from her sister-in-law to visit her mother,
whose health was giving her family anxiety, and
spent a month at Ferrara. It was the last time
that she ever saw the good Duchess, who died on
the 11th of October of a gastric fever which carried
her off in a few days. Francesco Gonzaga hastened
to Ferrara, but gave orders that the sad news should
be kept from the Marchesa until his return. But
when no letters came from the Duchess for a whole
week, Isabella’s fears were aroused, and she heard
from a Milanese correspondent, “ who,” as Capilupi
wrote to the Marquis, “ must have been either very
imprudent or still more wicked,” that her beloved
mother had been dead three days. Happily no harm
was done, and after the first outburst of grief Isabella
showed her usual good sense and self-control. The
highest honours were paid to the dead Duchess both
at Ferrara and at Mantua. The saintly friar, Bernar-
dino da Feltye, preached the funeral sermon, young
Ariosto wrote an elegy on her death, and Latin
orations were pronounced by some of the most dis-
tinguished humanists of the day. But more touch-
ing than any of these pompous tributes was a letter
in which Battista Guarino poured out the grief of
his soul to his old pupil.
“ If I had a hundred tongues, dearest lady,” he
wrote, “ I could not express the grief which I feel at
the death of our Madonna. I long to fly to you and