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                    THE

            DUCHESS OF TRAJETTO.


                     BY

         THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL."


      Giulia Gonzaga, che, dovunque il piede
      Volge, e dovunque i sereni occhi gira,
      Non pur ogn' altra di belta le cede,
      Ma, come scesa dal ciel, Dea l'ammira.

                                    Ariosto.


                   LONDON:

    ARTHUR HALL & CO., 26, PATERNOSTER ROW.

                    1863.




                   LONDON:

   BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.




  CONTENTS.


   CHAP. PAGE

      I. THE DUCHESS IN DANGER 1

     II. THE DUCHESS IN SAFETY 15

    III. THE DUCHESS'S STORY 34

     IV. MOORISH SLAVES 48

      V. THE CARDINAL AND THE JEW 62

     VI. THE SORROWS OF THE JEW 74

    VII. SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO 86

   VIII. THE DUCHESS AND THE PAINTER 99

     IX. DAWN OF A PURE LIGHT 115

      X. VITTORIA DI COLONNA 129

     XI. VALDES AND OCHINO 144

    XII. GOING TO LAW 159

   XIII. THE CARDINAL TEMPTED 172

    XIV. WHAT BEFEL BARBAROSSA 187

     XV. MORE ABOUT THE CARDINAL 197

    XVI. THE DUCHESS AND THE MARCHIONESS 221

   XVII. ISCHIA 233

  XVIII. A BETTER LIFE 247

    XIX. REST AND PEACE 261

         APPENDIX 275




  THE DUCHESS OF TRAJETTO.




  CHAPTER I.

  THE DUCHESS IN DANGER.


It was night--the Duchess was in bed. Her hand shaded her wakeful eyes
from the light of a silver lamp fed with perfumed oil, which shone only
on what was calculated to please the taste, minister to the luxury, and
display the wealth of the owner. Rare paintings of Scriptural and
mythological subjects decorated the walls, the ceiling was richly
moulded and gilt, the floor of polished marble was only partially
covered with fine matting, a few choice statuettes and vases occupied
brackets and niches; the massive toilette service and mirror-frame of
precious metal were shaded by some texture of light silvery tissue;
while half-open cabinets and caskets revealed priceless jewels and
fragrant perfumes. On a velvet cushion lay an illuminated missal and a
rosary.

Here was every outward appliance, one might think, to make a favourite
of fortune happy; but the good and honest face of the Duchess, which
spoke her every thought, did not look so. The night was sultry; she had
tried to sleep, but could not; and now she was feverishly endeavouring
to think of something pleasant, without success.

The deep stone windows of her apartment, which were open, commanded a
small garden sleeping in the moonlight, where terraces were cut on a
declivity; and where Cupid and Psyche, Diana with her hounds, and Apollo
with his bow, gleamed white among orange, lemon, and myrtle. This little
pleasaunce was shut in within the walls of a strong baronial castle;
and beyond them lay the little town of Fondi, consisting of a single
street built on the Appian Way. Beyond it, a lake, a forest, a marsh,
stretching down to the blue brimming Mediterranean. The little town
seemed steeped in sleep: the silence was intense.

All at once, a low, regular sound jarred on the Duchess's quickened ear.

"That's a very unaccountable noise," thought she to herself. "I wonder
what it is. People are about, who ought to be in their beds. If it
continues, I shall ring up the Mother-of-the-maids. Now it has stopped.
I wish I were not so wakeful--how tiresome it is!

"What could induce Isabella to write me that disagreeable letter? I
fancy the Prince of Sulmona had a hand in it. It is very hard, after the
Pope's substantiating my