CHAPTER XII.
GOING TO LAW.
Giulia was in Naples, but she was neither enjoying herself norbenefiting herself, as much as she ought to have done. The Princess ofSulmona, who stood in the double relation to her of daughter-in-law andsister-in-law, and who had once been her chosen companion and bosomfriend, had, since her second marriage, been gradually estranged fromher: and, from time to time, the Duchess had received letters from herin so altered a tone, that she might have exclaimed--
"Is all the friendship that we two have shared, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us,--oh! and is all forgot?"
Firstly, a demand for a certain ewer and chalice of silver, richlychased by Benvenuto, which were heirlooms, and held by Giulia in chargefor her nephew and Isabella's son, the little Vespasiano. On readingthis missive, the Duchess took the trouble to write her a long,explanatory, and reproachful letter, reminding her of things whereofIsabella ought not to have needed reminding.
Letter the second, after a considerable pause, took no notice ofGiulia's answer, but enforced attention to letter the first, makingadditional claim to a large ruby ring and a string of oriental pearls.
On reading this, the Duchess said: "She's mad!"--burnt the letter, anddid not answer it.
Letter the third was filled with the most aggravating things that onewoman could say to another.
Giulia replied by desiring her instantly to return a service of plateand several family jewels which had been lent her on her marriage.
In answer to this, Giulia received a lawyer's letter, telling her thather husband's will was null and void, and threatening her withproceedings.
Fancy the state of the poor Duchess! She received this letter justbefore she went, for the first time, with Vittoria, to hear Ochinopreach; and however attentive he might have thought her, she was in factthinking of the lawyer's letter all the while, and writing imaginaryletters to the Pope and the Emperor. For, Giulia had overpoweringallies; and if her sweet nature were sufficiently stirred to call themto her succour, woe unto those who attacked her! This had beenexemplified immediately after the Duke's death, when his kinsmen,Ascanio Colonna and Napoleone Orsini, taking advantage of her supposedhelplessness, laid claim to his estates. Up in arms were the Pope andthe Emperor directly. The Pope pronounced the will valid, and theEmperor put her in possession of her estates. Yet, now, here was thewhole matter to go over again, and with some one much nearer and dearer!Giulia had a fit of crying; and the humid eyes and dejected mien whichOchino and Valdes attributed to her convictions of sin were traceable toa much lower source.
"How well dear Ochino laboured the point of justification by faith!"exclaimed Vittoria, after their return from church. "Did you ever hearit better demonstrated?"
"To say the truth, dear Vittoria," replied the Duchess, "I scarcelyheard two words of it, and do not remember one."
The Marchioness looked shocked; but Giulia continued--
"Isabella threatens me with a lawsuit, and I am determined to write tothe Pope about it."
"Oh, pray do not," cried Vittoria, "you are always a great deal tooviolent. You use such extraordinarily strong measures when mild oneswould do."
"_I_, violent? Why, that is the last thing I am! It is because I amunprotected that people trample on me!"
"Trample! O, my dear Giulia!"
"Why, only remember how Ascanio and Napoleone came down upon me directlymy poor Duke was dead!"
"Yes, and only remember how _you_ came down upon them. You raised thewhole country about it. No one less than the Pope and the Emperor wouldserve your turn."
"Well, and did not they say I was right? and did not they take my part?"
"Truly they did!--but it does not follow that they would do so again.Men are apt to fly to the rescue, directly they think a helpless womanis oppressed; but if they find out she is able and willing to fight herown battles, they let her! And indeed, dear Giulia, it does not becomea woman to be pugnacious."
"Pugnacious!" The word was highly offensive, and the Duchess was deeplyhurt. She threw herself on a pile of cushions and began to tear anosegay to pieces, without saying a word.
"Hear what St. Paul says," pursued Vittoria, sitting down beside her,and turning over the leaves of a little book.
"St. Paul knows nothing about it," muttered the Duchess.
"There you are quite mistaken," said Vittoria, still eagerly hunting upthe passage, "St. Paul knew something about everything, for he was agreat genius and an eminently practical man, besides being a holyapostle. This is what he says--'Dare any of you, having a matter againstanother, go to law before the unjust, and not before the saints?... Ispeak to your shame. Is it so, that there is not a wise man among you?No? Not one, that shall be able to judge between his brethren? Butbrother goeth to law with brother, and that before the unbelievers! Now,therefore, there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law onewith another. Why do ye not rather take wrong? Why do not ye rathersuffer yourselves to be defrauded?'"
"That is very fine for St. Paul to say," said Giulia. "I wonder how hewould have liked it himself."
"Giulia! you must not say such things as that. It is wicked."
"Why, to hear you talk, one would think it was I who wanted to go to lawwith Isabella; whereas, it is Isabella who wants to go to law with_me_!"
And Giulia began to cry.
"Nobody is so unfortunate as I," said she.
"I pity you," said Vittoria, "but I own I think you are blameworthy."
"In what?"
"In your spirit."
"Why, what would you do in my place?"
"I would not write to the Pope."
"That's what you would _not_ do. What would you do?"
"Settle it by amicable agreement."
"But Isabella will not be amicable!"
"If she will not, that is _her_ fault."
"Certainly! And so it is her fault."
"Well, my dear Giulia, I would not trouble myself so for all the pearlsand diamonds in the world. What are they, but so much dust? If you throwthem into a crucible, they will lose all their beauty, and--"
"So should I, if you put _me_ into a crucible," said Giulia, beginningto laugh; and her own little joke did more to make her see the brightside of things than all her cousin's wise saws.
"I know what I'll do," said she. "I'll write to Ferrante."
Ferrante was her only surviving brother.
"Ah, that is a good thought," said Vittoria. "He will be sure to helpyou."
So the Duchess wrote to Don Ferrante; and when Don Ferrante's answercame, which was not within a fortnight, he told her he was sorry to findshe was embroiling herself again with her husband's relations; acontentious spirit was worse than a continual dropping: he feared shehad had a little too much prosperity and petting: misfortunes were thelot of all, and it was vain to repine because a rose-leaf was doubled onour couch, &c., &c., &c. Think how many people were a great deal worseoff, &c., &c., &c.
Clearly, there was no comfort to be had from Don Ferrante. So Giulia,getting another aggravating letter from Isabella, consulted the bestlawyers in Naples; who advised her not to answer her, but to leave themto conduct the correspondence (for a consideration).
Then came so much parry and thrust, and tergiversation, and objurgation,and recrimination, that poor Giulia became seriously ill. Then theMarchioness of Pescara was very kind to her, and sat by her all day, andwould have done so all night, but she fidgeted her to death, by whatGiulia called preaching, though Vittoria only spoke what she meant for aword in season; and Giulia longed to tell her she would rather be nursedby her own maids.
"Ah, Leila!" said Cynthia, as she knelt, fanning her mistress, "I wishwe were all back at Fondi."
"Why do you wish that, Cynthia?"
"You would be better there, Leila. You would be under the care of BarHhasdai."
"Bar Hhasdai has no cure for worry, Cynthia."
"I think you would be better there, Leila."
 
; "Cynthia! do _you_ care for me? do you love me?"
Cynthia replied by repeatedly kissing the hem of the Duchess's garment.
"Ah, it is all very well to make that dumb show; but do you really loveme?"
"Yes, Leila, I love you. When the hound flew at me, you were bathed inmy blood, and did not mind."
"Of course, poor girl, I could not help pitying you. By the bye,Cynthia--would you do anything that would make me better?"
"Try me, Leila."
"Well then, Cynthia--do tell me--frankly, as a friend--I'll forget I amyour mistress--I will not punish you. _Did_ you have any communicationwith Barbarossa?"
Cynthia's face changed. "Oh, Leila! how can you ask?"
"Well then, say no! It is so easily spoken."
"It is not easy."
"Easy or difficult, you _must_ say."
Cynthia's obstinate look came on, which showed the case to be hopeless.
"Oh, very well, Cynthia; then you do not love me, that is all." And theDuchess turned her face away.
"I _do_ love you, Leila."
"No, I don't believe you."
Cynthia took her hand and wetted it with tears. The Duchess drew itaway.
"I wish you would kill me, Leila."
"Don't tell such stories, Cynthia. You know it is not my nature to killpeople; though there were persons wicked enough to say I had killed poorMuza, after cutting out his tongue, which you know he had lost before heever came to me."
"I know it, Leila."
"Muza was perhaps sent back as a spy; though he pretended he hadescaped. There are so many wicked people in the world that I do not knowwho to trust--I believe I shall end by distrusting everybody."
"Oh no, Leila. Do not!"
"Why, how can I trust _you_? You have eaten of my bread and drank of mycup these two years, and you are no more _of_ us than if you were astone."
"I love my own people, I own," said Cynthia. "And so would you loveyours, if you were exiled from them."
"I love mine without being exiled from them."
"But you would find you loved them still more if you were sold intoslavery."
"If Barbarossa had taken me to Constantinople! Well, I believe I should.There is no making anything of you, Cynthia. You are a riddle. I believeI could love you if you were not so close. But you shut yourself up likea hedgehog. Sing me one of your Moorish songs--that one about Zelindaand Ganzul. Perhaps you may quiet my poor nerves."
So Cynthia immediately began a long, wailing ballad, the Spanish versionof which begins:--
"En el tiempo que Zelinda Cerro ayrada la ventana A la disculpa, a los zelos Que il Moro Ganzul le dava."
Before she reached the happy reconciliation of Ganzul and Zelinda, theDuchess was asleep.