Representing the Life and Legacy of

Renée de France : From Fille de France

to Dowager Duchess 1st Edition Kelly
Digby Peebles
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/representing-the-life-and-legacy-of-renee-de-france-fr
om-fille-de-france-to-dowager-duchess-1st-edition-kelly-digby-peebles/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Neurologie Collège Des Enseignants De Neurologie France

https://ebookmass.com/product/neurologie-college-des-enseignants-
de-neurologie-france/

Empire's Legacy: Roots of a Far-Right Affinity in

Contemporary France John W. P. Veugelers

https://ebookmass.com/product/empires-legacy-roots-of-a-far-
right-affinity-in-contemporary-france-john-w-p-veugelers/

Why Neo-Liberalism Failed In France: Political

Sociology Of The Spread Of Neo-liberal Ideas In France
(1974–2012) 1st Edition Kevin Brookes

https://ebookmass.com/product/why-neo-liberalism-failed-in-
france-political-sociology-of-the-spread-of-neo-liberal-ideas-in-
france-1974-2012-1st-edition-kevin-brookes/

Fictions of the Press in Nineteenth-Century France 1st

ed. Edition Edmund Birch

https://ebookmass.com/product/fictions-of-the-press-in-
nineteenth-century-france-1st-ed-edition-edmund-birch/
Republic of Islamophobia: The Rise of Respectable
Racism in France Jim Wolfreys

https://ebookmass.com/product/republic-of-islamophobia-the-rise-
of-respectable-racism-in-france-jim-wolfreys/

Ego-histories of France and the Second World War:

Writing Vichy Manuel Bragança

https://ebookmass.com/product/ego-histories-of-france-and-the-
second-world-war-writing-vichy-manuel-braganca/

Sand & Steel: The D-Day Invasions and the Liberation of

France Peter Caddick-Adams

https://ebookmass.com/product/sand-steel-the-d-day-invasions-and-
the-liberation-of-france-peter-caddick-adams/

Rethinking the Age of Revolutions: France and the Birth

of the Modern World David A. Bell

https://ebookmass.com/product/rethinking-the-age-of-revolutions-
france-and-the-birth-of-the-modern-world-david-a-bell/

Public Representations of Immigrants in Museums :

Exhibition and Exposure in France and Germany 1st
Edition Yannik Porsché

https://ebookmass.com/product/public-representations-of-
immigrants-in-museums-exhibition-and-exposure-in-france-and-
germany-1st-edition-yannik-porsche/
 Representing the
Life and Legacy of
Renée de France
From Fille de France to Dowager Duchess

Edited by
Kelly Digby Peebles
Gabriella Scarlatta
 Queenship and Power

Series Editors
Charles E. Beem
University of North Carolina
Pembroke, NC, USA

Carole Levin
University of Nebraska
Lincoln, NE, USA
This series focuses on works specializing in gender analysis, women’s stud-
ies, literary interpretation, and cultural, political, constitutional, and dip-
lomatic history. It aims to broaden our understanding of the strategies
that queens—both consorts and regnants, as well as female regents—pur-
sued in order to wield political power within the structures of male-­
dominant societies. The works describe queenship in Europe as well as
many other parts of the world, including East Asia, Sub-Saharan Africa,
and Islamic civilization.

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14523
Kelly Digby Peebles • Gabriella Scarlatta
Editors

Representing the Life

and Legacy of
Renée de France
From Fille de France to Dowager Duchess
Editors
Kelly Digby Peebles Gabriella Scarlatta
Clemson University University of Michigan–Dearborn
Clemson, SC, USA Dearborn, MI, USA

ISSN 2730-938X     ISSN 2730-9398 (electronic)

Queenship and Power
ISBN 978-3-030-69120-2    ISBN 978-3-030-69121-9 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-69121-9

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2021
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to
the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The
publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and
institutional affiliations.

Cover illustration: Jacques Androuet du Cerceau. La grand’ salle du Chasteau de Montargis,

ca. 1570. Le Premier volume des plus excellents bastiments de France. (Paris: Pour Jacques
Androuet du Cerceau, 1576), f. 121v-122r. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, RES
V-390. Source: BnF.

This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
 For Renée de France in commemoration of her 510th birthday on
October 25, 2020.
And for Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier in celebration of her retirement.
 Acknowledgments

This collection on the life and legacy of Renée de France originated in a

series of panels offered at the Kings and Queens conference organized by
the Royal Studies Network (2017 in Madrid, 2018 in Winchester, and
2019 in Catania). We sincerely thank founding director Ellie Woodacre
and the conference organizers who offered us the perfect venue in which
to investigate Renée de France’s legacy from multiple perspectives and
disciplines. Many important ideas originated at the three conferences and
much precious feedback was gathered.
We want to express our heartfelt gratitude to our amie et collègue
Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier who has presented her papers on Renée with
us and who has helped us all along in the conception and creation of this
volume. Her invaluable assistance, unwavering encouragement, and eru-
dite knowledge on Renée and her sister Claude de France have inspired
and nurtured this project all along.
We also want to thank our copywriter Leah Eschrich, for helping us
with the final stages of the volume assembly. We are grateful to the series
editors, Charles Beem and Carole Levin, and to all our contributors for
our friendly exchange of ideas and their enthusiasm for this project, and
also to the anonymous reader who provided precious feedback on how to
enrich it.
We would like to thank our respective institutions, Clemson University
and the University of Michigan-Dearborn, for their financial and intellec-
tual support and for their continuous encouragement in our scholarly pur-
suits. In times of difficult financial constraints, it is heartening to be
continuously encouraged and funded to conduct research in France and

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Italy and present papers at international conferences. We also want to

acknowledge the Archivio di Stato di Modena, Daniela Cereia at the
Archivio di Stato di Torino, and Juliette Jestaz at the Bibliothèque histo-
rique de la ville de Paris, for welcoming our queries and our research in
their impressive facilities, as well as Karin Maag and Paul Fields at Calvin
College’s H. Henry Meeter Center for hosting the 2016 French
Paleography Workshop, skillfully taught by Tom Lambert and supported
by the Sixteenth-Century Society and Conference.
Kelly thanks her family—John, Lucy, and Brady—for their unflagging
love and support, and most especially for their patience, resilience, silli-
ness, and tenderness when her research took her overseas or required her
to work long hours. She thanks her parents, Rosemary and Mike Digby,
for being such wonderful parents, grandparents, neighbors, copyeditors
(thanks, mom!), and travel companions. And she thanks her writing coach,
Cassie Premo Steele, for creating our powerful support network of women
writers, including Sondos Abdelgawad, Heidi Sherman, Liz Vogel, Shirley
Smith, Casey Moore, Chantalle Verna, and Colette Cann.
Kelly also thanks Salvador Oropesa and the Department of Languages
at Clemson University for supporting the publication of this volume and
the international travel for conference presentations and archival research
from which this work developed. She also wishes to thank Clemson
University’s College of Architecture, Arts, and Humanities and her col-
league, Caroline Dunn in the history department, for hosting the Kings
and Queens V conference in Greenville, South Carolina, in 2016, where
she presented her first paper on Renée de France and first experienced the
welcoming atmosphere of the Royal Studies Network.
Gabriella is very grateful to Marty Hershock, Dean of the College of
Arts, Sciences, and Letters, for his continuous encouragement and gift of
time to pursue her research abroad and to write. Her gratitude also goes
to the Office of Research and Sponsored Programs for a generous grant
that allowed her to travel to conferences and to visit the Italian archives.
Without the generosity, collegial encouragement, and support of all
involved at the University of Michigan-Dearborn, this volume could not
have been published.
Finally, Gabriella wants to thank her family—Greg, Sierra, Leah,
Graham, Peter, and Vittoria—for their constant encouragement and
unconditional love throughout this entire journey, from Michigan to
France to Ferrara and back! She is extremely appreciative to have a family
who warmly embraces her pursuits and is always eager to help.
 Contents

1 Introduction: Renée de France’s Life and Legacy  1

Kelly Digby Peebles and Gabriella Scarlatta

2 Anne de Bretagne, Claude de France, and the Roots of

Renée’s Persona 21
Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier

3 The Primer of Renée de France 69

Roger S. Wieck

4 Back to Basics: Rereading the “Ferrarese Imbroglio” of

1536 in Light of Primary Sources 97
Dick Wursten

5 The Duchess and the Poet: Rereading Variants of Two

Poems Written in Exile by Clément Marot to Renée de
France in Relation to Ongoing Diplomatic Negotiations
(1535–1538)127
Guillaume Berthon

6 “C’est mon stile qui change”: Clément Marot’s Lyrical

Turn in Renée de France’s Pays Italique167
Robert J. Hudson

ix
x Contents

7 Between Literature and Religion: Renata di Francia’s

Literary Network191
Gabriella Scarlatta

8 Renata di Francia and the Theater: Some Hypotheses219

Marzia Pieri

9 A Challenging Wife: Renée de France and Simulated

Celibacy247
Eleonora Belligni

10 Under the Rubble: Renée de France and Fragments of Art

from Her Italian Years285
Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier

11 Renée de France as Dowager Duchess and Epistolary

Diplomat333
Kelly Digby Peebles

12 The Gardens of the Château de Montargis as an

Expression of Renée de France’s Identity (1560-1575)359
Cyril Cvetkovic

13 Epilogue: Future Directions for Studying the Life and

Legacy of Renée de France381
Kelly Digby Peebles and Gabriella Scarlatta

Index385
 Notes on Contributors

Eleonora Belligni is Associate Professor of Early Modern History at the

University of Turin, Italy. Her research focuses on the Renaissance, the
Reformation, and the Counter-Reformation in Europe. She has been
working on the history of ideas and of political and religious culture of
Early Modern Europe—Spain, England, France, Dalmatia, and small
Italian States (Ferrara, Venice, and Rome). Her interests range widely:
literature and rhetoric, cultural history and history of political thought,
gender history, history of childhood and education, and history of eco-
nomics. Among her books, Renata di Francia. Un’eresia di corte (Utet,
2011) analyzes the heretical court of Renée de France, duchess of Ferrara,
as a part of an extended religious and political network.
Guillaume Berthon is maître de conférences at the University of Toulon
(Laboratoire Babel) and received his PhD at the Université Sorbonne
(2010). He is a specialist of Renaissance French literature and book his-
tory. He is the author of two books on Clément Marot: L’Intention du
Poète. Clément Marot “autheur” (Garnier, 2014) and Bibliographie cri-
tique des éditions de Clément Marot (ca. 1521–1550) (Droz, 2019).
Cyril Cvetkovic is preparing a thesis in History on the court of Renée de
France in Montargis at Centre d’études supérieures de la Renaissance
(University of Tours/CNRS) under the direction of Professor Benoist
Pierre. He is employed by the Château royal de Montargis as PhD student-­
researcher and benefits from a CIFRE grant from the National Association
for Research and Technology in France.

xi
xii NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Robert J. Hudson is Associate Professor of French at Brigham Young

University. His research focuses primarily on the lyric and poetic traditions
of Renaissance France, exploring an undercurrent of earthy Gallicism
within the Italian-influenced imitative verse of vernacular poets from
the reign of François I. His articles on Clément Marot, Maurice
Scève, Pontus de Tyard, and Pierre de Ronsard appear in venues such
as Romanic Review, French Forum, Nottingham French Studies, and the
Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies. He is finishing a manu-
script under contract with ACMRS for an English-language transla-
tion and critical edition of Clément Marot’s Verse Epistles.
Kelly Digby Peebles is Associate Professor of French and Director of
Language & International Health at Clemson University, South Carolina.
She teaches French language, culture, civilization, and literature, as well as
health humanities. Her research centers on French literary and historical
works by and about Renée de France, women and gender issues, book
history, and illness narratives in Early Modern France. Her recent pub-
lished works include the critically edited translation, Jeanne Flore, Tales
and Trials of Love, volume 33 in the series The Other Voice in Early Modern
Europe (CRRS and Iter, 2014), a biographical entry on Renée de France
in Literary Encyclopedia, and several journal articles and book chapters,
including “Clément Marot’s and Renée de France’s Voyages: Political
Exile to Spiritual Transformation” in Women in French Studies, “Embodied
Devotion: the Dynastic and Religious Loyalty of Renée de France
(1510–1575),” in Royal Women and Dynastic Loyalty, edited by Caroline
Dunn and Elizabeth Carney (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), and
“Reincarnating the Forgotten Francis II: from Puerile Pubescent to
Heroic Heartthrob,” in Remembering Queens and Kings in Early Modern
England and France, edited by Estelle Paranque (Palgrave Macmillan,
2019). She also is preparing the forthcoming volume Portraits of Renée de
France: Letters, Documents, and Literary Works with Gabriella Scarlatta for
inclusion in the series the Other Voice in Early Modern Europe (ACMRS
Press and Iter).
Marzia Pieri is Professor of Theater and Spectacles at the University of
Siena, Italy, and a former fellow at The Harvard University Center for
Italian Renaissance Studies in Florence. Her publications include La
scena boschereccia nel Rinascimento italiano (1983), La nascita del teatro
moderno (1989), and Il teatro di C. Goldoni (1993), as well as various
critical editions of Goldoni’s plays and articles on Italian theater.
 NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS xiii

Gabriella Scarlatta is Professor of French and Italian and Associate Dean

of the College of Arts, Sciences, and Letters at the University of Michigan–­
Dearborn. She teaches French and Italian literature, culture, and civiliza-
tion, in particular the Medieval and Renaissance periods. Her research
focuses on Renée de France and her circle, the French and Italian
Petrarchan and Neo-Petrarchan court poets, early women writers and
intellectuals, and the theoretical intersections of gender and genre. Her
recent publications include “Gender, Power, and Sexuality in Betussi’s and
Brantôme’s Illustrious Women,” in Royal Studies Journal, Ruling
Sexualities Special Edition (2019); The Disperata: from Medieval Italy to
Renaissance France (2017); Representing Heresy in Early Modern France,
co-edited with Lidia Radi (2017); “Philippe Desportes,” in Literary
Encyclopedia, and “Beheading the Elegy: Genre and Gender on the
Scaffold of Bologna,” in Italica. She is also preparing the forthcom-
ing volume Portraits of Renée de France: Letters, Documents, and Literary
Works with Kelly Peebles, for inclusion in the Other Voice series
(ACMRS Press and Iter).
Roger S. Wieck is Melvin R. Seiden Curator and Department Head of
Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts at The Morgan Library & Museum
in New York. Previously, he held curatorial positions at the Walters Art
Museum, Baltimore, and the Houghton Library of Harvard. His
books on royal manuscripts include The Primer of Claude de France: MS
159, The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (2012; with C. J. Brown and
E. König); The Prayer Book of Claude de France: MS M.1166, The Pierpont
Morgan Library, New York (2010); and The Prayer Book of Anne de
Bretagne: MS M.50, The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York (1999).
Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier is Art History Professor Emerita at The
American University of Paris. Trained as a Fontainebleau specialist, she has
published a catalogue on French Renaissance prints, edited books
(Royaume de fémynie, with Eliane Viennot; Patronnes et mécènes en France
à la Renaissance, Femmes et fonctions à la cour de France, with Caroline
zum Kolk), and written articles on French women of rank and their artistic
patronage. Recent publications examine commissions associated with two
Bourbon princesses, Jeanne de France and Louise de Bourbon-­
Montpensier, but especially the piety and patronage of Queen Claude de
France, intertwined with those of her mother, Anne de Bretagne, and her
sister, Duchess Renée.
xiv NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Dick Wursten is an independent scholar and an inspector of religious

education in Flanders. He lives and works in Antwerp, Belgium. His
research focuses on the interplay between theology, history, and culture,
with a preference for early sixteenth-century France. In his book Clément
Marot and Religion. A Reassessment in the Light of His Psalm Paraphrases
(2010), he shows how deeply Marot’s translations—and its author—
were embedded in the European movement of learned Humanists.
 List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 Jean Clouet. Portrait of Renée of France, ca. 1519. Chantilly,
Musée Condé, Inv. MN28. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art
Resource, NY. (Photo: Michel Urtado) 5
Fig. 2.1 Jean Perréal, Michel Colombe, and Girolamo Paciarotti.
“Marguerite de Foix, duchesse de Bretagne and her coat of
arms,” Tomb of the Duke and the Duchess of Brittany.
Nantes, Cathedral, completed 1507. (Photos:
Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier) 25
Fig. 2.2 Michel Colombe. “Allegory of Prudence,” Tomb of the
Duke and the Duchess of Brittany. Nantes, Cathedral,
completed 1507. (Photos: Kathleen Wilson-Chevalier) 25
Fig. 2.3 Maître des Entrées parisiennes (Jean Coene IV?). “Pierre
Choque Offering His Commemoracion to Claude de France.”
Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS. Français 25158,
fol. 3v. Source: BnF 29
Fig. 2.4 Jean Pichore. “Philippe de Luxembourg and Pierre Choque
at the Burial of Anne de Bretagne at Saint-Denis,” in the
Trespas de l’hermine regrettée. Paris, Petit Palais, Musée des
Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris, ms. Dutuit 665, fol. 36r.
© IRHT-CNRS/Petit Palais 32
Fig. 2.5 Maître des Entrées parisiennes (Jean Coene IV?). “Philippe
de Luxembourg Officiating at Claude de France’s Coronation
Mass.” Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS. 5750,
fol. 19v. Source: BnF 34

xv
xvi List of Figures

Fig. 2.6 Étienne Clavier? “Epitaphs and the Gisants of Queen Claude
de France and Charlotte de France on Their Deathbed.”
©Bibliothèques d’Agglopolys, Communauté
d’Agglomération de Blois, Ms 245 41
Fig. 2.7 Maître de la Chronique scandaleuse? “Pierre Choque
Presenting His Incendie de la Cordelière to a Duchess/Queen.”
Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS. Français 28882,
fol. 5r. Source: BnF 43
Fig. 2.8 Master of Claude de France. “St. Ursula and Her Maidens,”
Prayer Book of Claude de France. New York, Morgan Library
Ms M. 1166, fol. 46v-47r. Gift of Mrs. Alexandre
P. Rosenberg in memory of her husband Alexandre Paul
Rosenberg, 2008. (Photographic credit: The Morgan Library
and Museum) 45
Fig. 2.9 “The Author Offering his Manuscript to François Ier in the
Presence of Claude de France and Marguerite duchesse
d’Angoulême et de Berry,” La Messe de Sainte-Anne. Paris,
BnF, ms. fr. 1035, fol. 1v. Source: BnF 46
Fig. 2.10 Master of Anne de Graville. “Queen Hippolyta Lecturing on
Perfect Love to a Group of Gentlemen,” Roman de Palamon
et Arcita. Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, MS. 5116, fol. 68.
Source: BnF 54
Fig. 3.1 Master of Claude de France (and, for the portrait, possibly
Jean Perréal or Jean Clouet). Annunciation and Renée
Praying, from the Primer of Renée de France, ca. 1515–17.
Modena, Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, MS Lat. 614 =
α.U.2.28, fols. 5v-6. (Photographic credit: The Morgan
Library & Museum) 70
Fig. 3.2 Master of Claude de France. Supper at Emmaus, from the
Primer of Renée de France, ca. 1515–17. Modena, Biblioteca
Estense Universitaria, MS Lat. 614 = α.U.2.28, fol. 7v.
(Photographic credit: The Morgan Library & Museum) 71
Fig. 3.3 Master of Claude de France. Renée Confessing, from the
Primer of Renée de France, ca. 1515–17. Modena, Biblioteca
Estense Universitaria, MS Lat. 614 = α.U.2.28, fol. 8v.
(Photographic credit: The Morgan Library & Museum) 72
Fig. 3.4 Master of Claude de France. Renée Praying to Christ, from
the Primer of Renée de France, ca. 1515–17. Modena,
Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, MS Lat. 614 = α.U.2.28,
fol. 9v. (Photographic credit: The Morgan Library & Museum) 73
 List of Figures  xvii

Fig. 3.5 Master of Claude de France. Virgin and Child with St. John
the Baptist, with the coat of arms of Queen Claude de France
in the lower border, and Annunciation to Joachim, from the
Prayer Book of Claude de France, ca. 1515–17. New York,
Morgan Library & Museum, MS M.1166, fols. 15v-16. Gift
of Mrs. Alexandre P. Rosenberg in memory of her husband
Alexandre Paul Rosenberg, 2008. (Photographic credit: The
Morgan Library & Museum) 77
Fig. 3.6 Master of Claude de France. Annunciation, with the coat of
arms of Queen Claude de France in the lower border, from
the Prayer Book of Claude de France, ca. 1515–17.
New York, Morgan Library & Museum, MS M.1166, fol.
18v. Gift of Mrs. Alexandre P. Rosenberg in memory of her
husband Alexandre Paul Rosenberg, 2008. (Photographic
credit: The Morgan Library & Museum) 78
Fig. 3.7 Jean Poyer. Annunciation, from the Primer of Charles-
Orland, ca. 1495. New York, Morgan Library & Museum,
MS M.50, fol. 1v. Purchased by J. Pierpont Morgan
(1837–1913) in 1905. (Photographic credit: The Morgan
Library & Museum) 82
Fig. 3.8 Jean Poyer. Supper at Emmaus, from the Primer of Charles-
Orland, ca. 1495. New York, Morgan Library & Museum,
MS M.50, fol. 8. Purchased by J. Pierpont Morgan
(1837–1913) in 1905. (Photographic credit: The Morgan
Library & Museum) 83
Fig. 3.9 Jean Poyer. Anne de Bretagne Confessing, from the Primer of
Charles-­Orland, ca. 1495. New York, Morgan Library &
Museum, MS M.50, fol. 10v. Purchased by J. Pierpont
Morgan (1837–1913) in 1905. (Photographic credit: The
Morgan Library & Museum) 84
Fig. 3.10 Jean Poyer. Charles-Orland Praying, from the Primer of
Charles-­Orland, ca. 1495. New York, Morgan Library &
Museum, MS M.50, fol. 31. Purchased by J. Pierpont
Morgan (1837–1913) in 1905. (Photographic credit: The
Morgan Library & Museum) 85
Fig. 3.11 Master of Claude de France. Angel with the Eucharist and
Tortured Christ, from a book of hours, after 1515–17. Private
collection, fols. 26v-27. © Christie’s Images Limited, 2020 89
xviii List of Figures

Fig. 6.1 Detail of the Belvedere island, south of Ferrara. Archivio di

Stato di Modena, Mappario Estense—Topografie di città,
n. 96. Su concessione del Ministero per I Beni et le Attività
Culturali et per il Turismo—Archivio di Stato di Modeno,
prot. no. 1625 176
Fig. 10.1 Renée de France. Woodcut from Guillaume Rouillé, La
seconde partie du proptuaire des medalles (Lyon: Guillaume
Rouillé 1553), 230. © Typ 515.53.753 Houghton Library,
Harvard University 288
Fig. 10.2 Renée de France, duchesse of Ferrara. Watercolor from Filippo
Rodi, Annali, manuscript. Ferrara, Biblioteca Ariostea I 645,
t. II, fol. 547v. © Biblioteca Ariostea 289
Fig. 10.3 Pastorino de’ Pastorini, Renea d’Este, medal, 1555. Paris,
Bibliothèque nationale de France, Cabinet des médailles,
It.Princ. 149. Source: BnF 297
Fig. 10.4 Gianantonio Leli da Foligno (attributed to), Lucrezia Borgia
Presenting Ercole d’Este to San Maurelio, silver plaque.
Ferrara, San Giorgio fuori le mura. © San Giorgio fuori
le mura 302
Fig. 10.5 The Forgiveness of the King (Lerian and Laureolle), tapestry.
Paris, musée de Cluny—musée national du Moyen-Âge,
Inv. Cl. 22742. © RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource,
NY. (Photo: Jean-­Gilles Berizzi) 306
Fig. 10.6 Caryatid Herms (attributed to the Dossi brothers), fresco.
Voghiera, Delizia di Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna, southeast
wall. (Photo: Filippo Greselin) 310
Fig. 10.7 Two Caryatid Herms (attributed to the Dossi brothers),
fresco. Voghiera, Delizia di Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna,
southeast wall. (Photo: Filippo Greselin) 311
Fig. 10.8 Caryatid Herm (attributed to the Dossi brothers), fresco.
Voghiera, Delizia di Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna, southeast
wall. (Photo: Filippo Greselin) 312
Fig. 10.9 Three Caryatid Herms (attributed to Girolamo da Carpi),
fresco. Voghiera, Delizia di Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna,
northwest wall. (Photo: Filippo Greselin) 313
Fig. 10.10 Winter and Hermathena (attributed to Garofalo), fresco.
Voghiera, Delizia di Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna, northwest
wall. (Photo: Filippo Greselin) 317
Fig. 10.11 Caryatid Herms with Landscape, fresco. Voghiera, Delizia di
Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna, northwest wall. (Photo: Filippo
Greselin)319
 List of Figures  xix

Fig. 10.12 Caryatid Herm with Braids, fresco. Voghiera, Delizia di

Belriguardo, Sala della Vigna, southeast wall. (Photo: Filippo
Greselin)321
Fig. 11.1 Jacques Tortorel. L’Assemblee des trois estats, tenus a Orleans
au mois de Jannier. [sic] 1561. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale
de France, département d’estampes et photographies. Réserve
FOL-QB-201 (5). Source: BnF 340
Fig. 12.1 Jacques Androuet du Cerceau. Perspective view of the
Château de Montargis and its gardens, ca. 1570. Le Premier
volume des plus excellents bastiments de France. Auquel sont
designez les plans de quinze bastiments et de leur contenu
ensemble les elevations et singularitez d’un chascun, par Jacques
Androuet Du Cerceau, architecte. (Paris: Pour Jacques
Androuet du Cerceau, 1576), f. 128v-129r. Paris,
Bibliothèque nationale de France, RES V-390. Source: BnF 363
Fig. 12.2 Jacques Androuet du Cerceau. Upper gardens around the
castle, ca. 1570. Le Premier volume des plus excellents
bastiments de France. (Paris: Pour Jacques Androuet du
Cerceau, 1576), f. 136v-137r. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale
de France, RES V-390. Source: BnF 364
Fig. 12.3 Jacques Androuet du Cerceau. Detail of the glass room and
the aviary, ca. 1570. Le Premier volume des plus excellents
bastiments de France. (Paris: Pour Jacques Androuet du
Cerceau, 1576), f. 136v-137r. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale
de France, RES V-390. Source: BnF 365
Fig. 12.4 Jacques Androuet du Cerceau. Wooden gallery, ca. 1570.
Le Premier volume des plus excellents bastiments de France.
(Paris: Pour Jacques Androuet du Cerceau, 1576),
f. 136v-137r. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France,
RES V-390. Source: BnF 366
Fig. 12.5 Comparison between Androuet du Cerceau’s castle plan and
Cythera’s plan. Le Premier volume des plus excellents
bastiments de France. (Paris: Pour Jacques Androuet du
Cerceau, 1576), f. 128v-129r. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale
de France, RES V-390. Source: BnF 368
 List of Tables

Table 3.1 Claude’s commissions ca. 1515–17 88

Table 3.2 Prayers and accompanying images in the Primer
of Renée de France90
Table 5.1 Translation by Robert J. Hudson, “Prenatal poem celebrating
the birth of the third child of My Lady Renée, Duchess of
Ferrara, composed by Clément Marot, Secretary of the said
Lady in July 1536 [sic], while in the same Ferrara” 149
Table 5.2 French variants of “Avant naissance du troiziesme enffant de
madame Renee duchesse de Ferrare” 151
Table 5.3 Translation by Robert J. Hudson, “Epistle sent from Venice
to My Lady the Duchess of Ferrara by Clément Marot” 154
Table 5.4 French variants of “Epistre envoyee de Venize à Madame la
duchesse de Ferrare” 158

xxi
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
that spoke the tenderly solemn words:—

"Oh, do not let the word depart,

And close thine eyes against the light;
Poor sinner, harden not thine heart;
Thou wouldst be saved, why not to-night?"

Among the singers he had no difficulty in singling out one face and voice. It
was a voice of unusual sweetness and power, and it was a face that haunted
him. He could not yet tell why. There she was, the fair young beauty who had
given him his card. How strange it was that he had accepted her invitation
after all! After the song, instead of the benediction which John expected, came
another invitation.

"Now I know," said the preacher, "there are some in this room to-night who
feel that they are without the wedding garment, and who believe that if the
King should ask them why they would be speechless. Do not all such wish to
settle the question? You mean to settle it some time. You do not mean to go
up to that guest-chamber unclothed. Why not settle it to-night? Why not come
up here, all of you who think the question unsettled, and who believe that it is
important enough to be attended to? Come, and let us ask the Holy Spirit to
help you to settle it to-night."

Did John Morgan intend ever to settle the question? He looked the thought,
for almost the first time, squarely in the face. He believed that the man who
had been speaking was in earnest. He believed that he knew what he was
talking about. Somehow the network of unbelief in which this foolish young
wanderer had intrenched himself so long would not bear the piercing light of
one solemn Bible question, one gospel sermon; it slipped away from him and
left him refugeless.

"Come," said the preacher. "Be men now and be women. Be worthy of your
position as reasonable beings. Take steps toward the better understanding of
this important matter. Do what you can. Rest assured that the King will see to
it that the rest is done for you. Come now."

Had John Morgan the least idea of going? He told himself that he had not. He
told himself that he did not believe in these things, that they were not for him,
and even while he said so his heart said back to him, "That is not true." How
came he to leave his station away back by the door, and to follow the throng
who were moving up the aisle, and to kneel down there before that gray-
haired man? Neither then nor afterward did John Morgan understand it. He
had not intended to go—at least he supposed he had not; and yet he went. He
did not believe that he had any feeling on the subject; he believed that he
hated religion and all religionists. No, not all; there was Louise—he had tried
to hate her, and failed. There was that fair girl who gave him the card, and that
wrinkled old woman who had given him the card. What was the use in hating
them? He did not believe that he did. Then this gray-haired, earnest, clear-
brained preacher. No, he found nothing like hatred in his heart for him. But
what was the use of going up there? He did not want to be prayed for. Yes he
did, or at least he was not sure but he did. He wanted something; he could not
be certain what it was; and before it was reasoned out, or before he
understood what motive impelled him or quite what he meant, he had been
slowly impelled—he could almost have said "pushed forward"—by a
something, or by some one, stronger than himself, to whom he felt impelled to
yield.

It was just as the city clocks were striking the hour of nine. He did not know
that at that hour four people, in three separate rooms, were kneeling and
presenting his name before the King, begging for him the wedding garment—
Louise and Lewis in the quiet of their own room, Dorothy in John's own hall
chamber, Carey Martyn in his own room over the kitchen, each, according to
the covenant into which they had entered, breathing the same name, united in
the same desire. "While they are yet speaking, I will hear." Did the King say
that of them that night? Did a message go from the palace that night, "Clothe
John Morgan in the wedding garment, and write his name among the guests
who have accepted the invitation"? There are those, even in the so-called
Christian world, who would fail to see the connecting link between this
conference held nightly with the King and these strange leadings which John
Morgan had called chance.

Yet is it not blessed, after all, to remember that the witnesses are daily
increasing who can testify to just such claims as these—chains reaching even
to the Infinite Arm, and moving that Arm to reach down and pluck some
stranded, sin-surrounded soul, lifting its feet from the mire and setting them
firmly on the Rock, even the Rock of Ages?
 CHAPTER XXIII.

"FORBID THEM NOT."

To the Morgan family the long golden summer months moved slowly. The first
actual break in the household had come to them; none of the family had
realized how hard it would be until it was met. I suppose it is a fact, many
times proved by experience, that trial either softens or hardens the human
heart. Certainly Mrs. Morgan's heart was not undergoing the softening
process; she brooded over her first great anxiety until at times it seemed to
her that no sorrow was like unto her sorrow, and she chafed under it as a cruel
thing.

Farmer Morgan, though saying little, had aged under the trouble, and seemed
at times like a broken-down man; yet he steadily resisted any effort at comfort,
and sternly forbade any attempts to make search for the missing boy. "He has
chosen to cut himself off from us," he would say coldly; "let him get the full
benefit of it." Yet there were times when he hinted, in the presence of the
mother, that had the home atmosphere been less hard and cold John might
have been kept; and she more than hinted, in the coldest of voices, that if his
father had not treated John like a little boy, and made him work like a slave,
there need have been no trouble: so of course these two could not help each
other, and only grew further apart in their common sorrow. Taken altogether,
the summer was one full of bitterness to the new bud that had been grafted on
to the gnarled old tree.

There were times when Louise's brave heart sunk within her, and she cried in
tears to the Lord for relief. It was not that she was not willing to bear the heat
and burden of the day, but the poor heart so longed for fruitage. Was her
Christian effort in vain she questioned. Then her thoughts went away from the
old farmhouse, back to her own lovely home and her lovely sister Estelle; how
long she had prayed for her! How earnestly she had striven to bring her as a
trophy to the Master! Yet the bright, winsome girl was fast blushing into
womanhood, her life still uncrowned by this consecration. Thinking of her and
of John, and of the steadily aging father and the hard mother in this new
home, could Louise be other than sad sometimes? "If ye had faith as a grain
of mustard seed." Yes, I know; it was true, her faith was weak. But whose is
strong?
There were bright spots. It was strange that with the illustration ever before
her she should so often forget it.

Dorothy moved steadily on her upward way. She had given herself entirely to
the Master's service, and he was daily showing her that he accepted the gift.
Occasionally Louise found heart for admiration over the rapid strides that
Dorothy had taken and the avenues for work opening on every hand. There
had been, during the summer months, a Sabbath school organized in the little
brown school-house just above them. No one quite remembered how it started
into growth, save Louise, who knew it was born of Dorothy's sudden, startled,
"What a pity that those children are not being taught anything!" as she
watched half-a-dozen playing together in an uproarious manner one Sunday
afternoon. Now the school had been in progress three months, and was
flourishing. Lewis was superintendent, much to his own astonishment; and
Louise, and Dorothy, and Carey Martyn, and the young lady whose father
employed him, were the teachers. Louise had organized a Bible class
composed of some of the mothers, and was working faithfully among them,
yet not seeing the fruit that she longed for. Mr. Butler had of late fallen into the
habit of walking out on Sabbath afternoon and talking a few minutes to the
children. Once he overheard a remark of Dorothy's not by any means
intended for his ears.

"Mr. Butler's talk to the children was really good, wasn't it?" Carey Martyn said
to her; and she had answered heartily—

"Yes, it was; when he talks without having it put on paper, it sounds as though
he meant it. I wonder why it makes such a difference to read things off?"

And the minister, just at their elbow, intending to join them for a little talk,
turned away with heightened colour, and went home to ponder the question.
Perhaps that had somewhat to do with the fact that two Sundays thereafter he
talked to the people who gathered in the dreary little church. I do not know
that they discussed the sermon much during the week, but I know that one
and another said to himself: "I must try to get to prayer-meeting on
Wednesday evening; I declare it is a shame to have so small an attendance.
We ought to go, if for nothing else than to sustain the minister; he seems
really in earnest." Yet he had not preached about the prayer-meeting. Still its
evident growth the next Wednesday evening encouraged his heart, and had to
do with certain earnest thoughts that he worked up in his next morning's
sermon, which was simply "talked" again, not read. Perhaps he would have
been discouraged had he known that this wise people, not used to the work of
making sermons, did not call these efforts of his, over which he had toiled as
he never had over written work, sermons at all. They imagined him to have
been belated in his preparations, and simply to have opened his mouth and let
the words flow out.

"We haven't had a sermon for two weeks now," said one wise head to another.

And surely the minister who had sat late nearly every night, thinking out and
trying to get accustomed to what he meant to try and say, would have been
discouraged had he heard it; especially if he had not heard the answer—

"No; but the fact is, I like these talks better than the real sermons. I get better
hold of them; and they seem, somehow, to do me more good. I don't care how
many times he leaves out the sermon, I'm sure!"

Now this was one of the most thoughtful minds belonging to the little company
which gathered once a week in the old church. On the whole, might not the
minister have felt somewhat encouraged had he known it all?

But I commenced this chapter with the special intention of telling you about
little Nellie Morgan. She has been kept very much in the background of the
story; and she was a quiet, old-fashioned sort of a child, who kept herself
much out of hearing, at least, though she listened well.

On this particular autumn afternoon of which I write the world was in gloom.
The glory which had had possession of the country for the few weeks past
seemed to have departed in a night, leaving in its place clouds and wind, and
dull, withered leaves flying about, and presently a chill, depressing rain. The
Morgan household felt the depression. Mrs. Morgan, senior, knew, when first
she opened her eyes on the dreariness, that it was one of her black days—
John's birthday. She was sorry that she thought of it; she struggled all day with
the memories of the past. She saw John's curly head nestled in her arms; she
saw him trotting, a beautiful two-year-old bit of mischief, always at her side;
she saw his little shoes—though they were laid away in the bottom of her old
trunk in the attic, yet they seemed to stare at her all day, haunting her with the
dreams that she had had and that had faded. Every hour in the day her heart
grew heavier, and her outward demeanour grew harder. Why could not those
about her have realized that she bitterly suffered? Whether the knowledge had
helped her or not, it would have made the day easier to them.

Nellie, soon after the early dinner, took refuge in her new sister's room; and
drawing the small rocker close to the cheery fire, turned over, for the
hundredth time, a volume brightened with many pictures, and maintained
silence, leaving Louise to the sadness of her thoughts. They were sad; the
atmosphere of the house was growing at times almost too much for her. She
did not seem to be gaining on her mother-in-law. Yet she felt that, on Dorothy's
account, she would not be elsewhere. Presently Nellie's soft voice broke the
silence.

"Sister Louise, what do you think He said to them, when he took them in his
arms?"

She was bending her fair head over a familiar picture, which she seemed to
love to study—Jesus, with a fair, sweet-faced child in his arms and many
others clustering around him.

Louise tried to call in her thoughts enough to answer—"Why, you know, dear,
he blessed them."

"Yes, I know; but just what do you think he said—the exactly words? I wish I
could have heard him."

There was intense pathos in the voice, but Louise's preoccupied heart did not
notice.

"I don't know, Nellie, just the words; only I suppose he prayed for them, that
his Father would take care of them and make them his own children."

Silence again in the room. Louise went on with her broken thread of thought,
and the child's eyes were still riveted on the picture. Suddenly she spoke
again, and this time the voice was so eager, so intense, that it called her sister
back keenly and entirely from all wandering.

"If I could only have been there."

It was the echo of more than a passing fancy of a child; and Louise, looking at
her, saw that her fair blue eyes were brimming with tears, and the large drops
were staining the page before her.

"Why, my darling little sister, what is the trouble?" Her voice was full of
sympathy now, and she dropped the work she had been listlessly sewing,
and, drawing the little rocker toward her, put loving arms around Nellie.

"What makes the tears come, little darling sister?"

"O Louise, I don't know quite; but I think and I think about it, and wish I could
see him and hear him speak. If he would only say, 'Nellie, come here,' I would
run so fast; and I can't make it seem as though he cared now for me. My
teacher in the Sunday school says I must give my heart to him; but I don't
know how. If I could see him and ask him about it, as they had a chance to do,
I think it would be so nice; and then I can't help crying."

"Jesus said, 'Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me.' But
his disciples rebuked them."

"Is it possible," thought Louise, "that I have been one of those faithless
disciples, rebuking, or at least ignoring, the presence of one of his little ones,
while I reached out after fruit that I dared to think was of more importance!"

I cannot explain to you with what a chill her heart took in this thought, and she
gathered Nellie to her, and her voice was tenderness itself.

"You poor little lonely lammie. Would no one show you the way to the
Shepherd? It is just as easy, darling, as it was when he was on earth, and he
calls you just as surely. You don't know how to give your heart to him? I
shouldn't wonder if you had done it without knowing how. Do you think you
love the dear Saviour, Nellie, and want to try to please him?"

"I'm sure I do," said Nellie, brushing back the tears and looking with earnest
eyes into her questioner's face. "I do want to, but I keep forgetting and doing
naughty things, and then am sorry, and I think I won't ever again, and then I
do; and, oh dear! I don't know what to do."

The old sad cry of the awakened human heart: "That which I do, I allow not;
for what I would, that do I not, but what I hate, that do I." And the sad little
heart had not learned the triumphant chorus, "'Thanks be to God, which giveth
us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.'"

"Poor darling!" said Louise, and she held her close. "I know all about it. But
see here: if you love him, then you have given him your heart—whoever you
love has a piece of your heart—and if you love him very much, so that you are
determined to please him just as well as you can, then you belong to him, and
he has blessed you. Nellie dear, I know what you have been thinking about:
you would have liked if you had been there so that he could pray for you."

"Yes, I would!" said Nellie, the emphasis of a strong desire in her voice.

"Well, now, let me tell you. I felt just so when I was a little girl, and a lady
found for me a verse in the Bible which showed me that he prayed for me
while he was here on the earth. Then I was glad. Listen:—Once when Jesus
was praying, and had asked his Father to take care of his disciples, and keep
them from sin, he said: 'And, Father, I do not pray only for these; I pray for
every one who shall ever believe on me, because my disciples have told them
about me.'"

"That means me," said Nellie, with a flash of intelligence in her bright eyes. "O
Louise, that does mean me!"

"Of course it does, my darling little sister. Now, let me tell you what I said
when I was a little girl, not much older than you. I determined that I would
belong to Jesus all my life, and that I would try in everything to please him;
and my papa taught me a little prayer to speak to him, telling him what I meant
to do. This was the prayer: 'Here, Lord, I give myself away; 'tis all that I can
do.' Do you want to give yourself to Jesus, Nellie,—to belong to him for ever?"

"Yes," said the child, with grave face and earnest eyes, from which the tears
had passed, leaving only solemn resolve, "I do."

And they two knelt down beside the little rocker, and the rain pattered from the
eaves outside, and the fire crackled in the stove inside, and aside from these
sounds, and the low murmured words of prayer from young lips, a solemn
silence filled the room, and the deed of another human soul was "signed,
sealed, and delivered" to its rightful owner.

It was a radiant face that was raised to Louise a few moments thereafter, and
the child's voice had a note of triumph in it.

"He took me," she said, simply. "I belong to him now. I did not understand it
before; but it is very easy. He took me."

Could any elaboration make the story of the mysterious change simpler?

How do you think that older disciple felt about the matter of fruitage? Here had
she been looking right and left of her for sheaves to take to the Master, and
behold, just at her feet, a bud had grown and swelled and burst into bloom
before she had even discovered signs of life! It taught her a lesson that she
put often into practice among the lambs thereafter. It led her to remember that
possibly his disciples of to-day often occupy unwittingly the position of
rebukers, even while the Master's voice is calling, "Suffer the little children,
and forbid them not."

Two hours thereafter they were down in the kitchen, Louise and Nellie; Louise
had been called down by a message from a neighbour, and Nellie had
followed. The errand despatched, the daughter-in-law lingered in the kitchen,
her hungry heart looking for a bit of cheer.
Changes in the kitchen arrangements had involved the clearing out and
reordering of a certain corner cupboard that day, and Dorothy, perched on a
chair, was settling the upper shelves. Her mother, with a face that every hour
in the day had grown harder, because of the conflict within which she was
determined nobody should suspect, was sorting over boxes of spices, bags of
dried seeds, papers of treasures. Dorothy found a niche which she believed
would just receive one of the treasures, a large, old-fashioned, covered dish of
china, dating back in its pattern for nearly a hundred years, and valued in the
household, as such pieces generally are, for a dozen times their worth. She
glanced about her. Louise had moved to the distant window, and was looking
out upon the dull sky and earth. Her mother was absorbed and forbidding-
looking. Little Nellie was standing very near the treasured dish, and her quick
eye saw what was wanted, and her quick and eager fingers grasped the
treasure.

"I'll hand it to you, Dorrie; you needn't get down."

"Oh no!" said Dorothy aghast, but not quickly enough. The small hands that
were so anxious to help had seized it, and were safely bearing it forward,
when the metallic voice of the mother came startlingly upon her.

"Nellie Morgan, put that dish down on the table this instant!"

Poor, startled Nellie, eager to obey, anxious to show her mother and Dorothy,
and, above all, Louise, that she meant to do right, turned to obey; but, alas her
nervous little hand measured falsely the height of the table, and she hit the
rare blue dish against its edge, the treacherous cover toppled over, and—well,
how did it happen? Who ever knows just how dire accidents happen? Such a
second of time in which they do it all! What Nellie and the rest of the startled
spectators knew was that the family heirloom lay in a dozen pieces on the
yellow kitchen floor!

CHAPTER XXIV.
STORM.
FOR the space of about one minute there was silence in the kitchen; then
Mrs. Morgan, senior, advanced with swift steps and stern face, and caught the
trembling Nellie by the arm and whirled her into the little bedroom near at
hand, and closed the door with an ominous bang. Then, presently, there
followed those sounds so absolutely unendurable to refined and sensitive
nerves—rapid blows, mingled with pitiful pleadings for mercy.

I have often wondered whether, if those given to the administration of that sort
of punishment could be lookers-on or listeners while another dealt the blows,
it would not materially change their views of the entire question. Is it possible
under those circumstances to avoid feeling a loss of respect for the
administrator?—to escape from the notion that he or she is submitting to a
self-degradation?

The two sisters looked at each other in dire dismay.

"Poor little Nellie!" gasped Dorothy at length. "She hadn't the least idea that
she was doing anything wrong. How can mother punish her?"

Louise made no answer, because there seemed to her nothing that it was safe
to say.

"Oh, mamma, don't, please don't!" wailed Nellie. "I didn't mean to do anything
wrong."

Then did Dorothy's courage rise to the point of action.

She went swiftly over to that closed door, pushed it open, and spoke with
eager, tremulous voice:—

"Oh, mother, don't whip Nellie; I know she didn't mean to do anything wrong."

"Dorothy Morgan!" said the firm, stern voice of her mother, never colder or
firmer than at that moment, "Leave this room, and close the door
immediately."

And Dorothy immediately obeyed. She always obeyed her mother; but is it
probable that just at that moment she respected her?

Louise leaned her head against the rain-bespattered window-pane, and

looked out into the dreariness, and waited; and Dorothy got back on her perch
and leaned her head against the cupboard door, and wiped a distressed tear
from her face with the back of her hand, and waited. It was not that either of
those misery-stricken waiters feared injury to Nellie, at least not to the physical
part of her. Mrs. Morgan was not in that sense cruel. They were well aware
that the punishment would not be unduly severe; but, nevertheless, there was
that miserable sense of degradation. Was it possible to avoid the conclusion
that the mother was angry, and was venting the pent-up irritations of the day
on her defenceless child? Each wail of Nellie's sank the mother lower in the
estimation of daughter and daughter-in-law: the latter, realizing and struggling
with the feeling, trying to reason herself into the belief that Mrs. Morgan must
know what was best for her child, and with strange inconsistency trying to
determine whether she could ever respect her again; Dorothy, not conscious
of the name of the miserable feelings that held her in possession, but knowing
that life seemed very horrid just then. All these phases of misery occupied little
room in time—one's heart works rapidly. Quiet came to the little bedroom,
broken only by an occasional sob, and presently the administrator of
punishment came out, closing the door after her.

"Pick up those pieces and throw them away," was her first command to
Dorothy. "One would have supposed you could have done that without waiting
to be told. And don't climb up there again; I will finish the work myself. If I had
done it in the first place, instead of setting you at it, I would have saved myself
a great deal of trouble."

"Can't they be mended?" Dorothy asked, aghast at the idea of throwing away
the bits of treasured blue china.

"No, they can't. I don't want my mother's china patched up—a continual
eyesore; I would rather put it out of sight."

"Poor Nellie!" said Dorothy, stooping to gather the fragments, and astonished
at her own courage; "she was so eager to help."

"It was not for trying to help that she was punished," explained the mother
coldly—the very tones of her voice betraying the fact that she felt the need of
self-justification. "She knows very well that she has been forbidden to touch
any dishes without special permission; and the fact that she forgot it only
proves that she pays very little attention to commands. And you, Dorothy, are
trying to help her pay less attention. I was astonished at your interference!
Don't let me ever see anything of that kind again."

And then Dorothy hated the blue china pieces, and would rather throw them
away than not. Still Louise lingered in the kitchen, not because the
atmosphere was pleasant, but because she pitied Dorothy, who was evidently
much tried still; she could not go away and leave her, perhaps to be
vanquished by the tempter.

It presently transpired that Dorothy had a new and fruitful source of anxiety.
The early autumn night was closing in; the rain was increasing, so were the
wind and the dampness. In the kitchen, Mother Morgan herself poked the fire
and added another stick, and the glow and warmth that followed were
agreeable; but the bedroom door was closed, and Dorothy was almost sure
that the bedroom window was open, and occasionally there came a dry little
cough from the little girl shut in there, that deepened the look of anxiety on the
sister's face. Her mother grew more gloomy looking as the moments passed,
but Dorothy ventured yet again.

"Mother, shall I shut the bedroom window?"

"No; let the bedroom window alone."

Presently the mother descended to the cellar, and Dorothy seized the
opportunity to express her anxieties.

"Nellie will catch her death in there; she must be real chilly. It is growing
damper every minute, and she has a cold now. What can mother be thinking
of?"

Then Louise began to give attention to the dry little cough, and to grow
anxious also. Debating the question for a while as to whether she would help
or hinder by speaking, she finally determined to try; so she said, in as
indifferent a tone as she could assume,—

"Shall I open the bedroom door, mother? Nellie seems to be coughing."

The mother faced round on her from the cupboard, where she was still
working, and these were the words she said,—

"Mrs. Lewis Morgan, can I be allowed to manage my own family, or must I give
it up to you?"

Then Louise went upstairs, and shut her door and locked it, and sat down in
the little rocker so lately vacated by Nellie, and gave herself up to the luxury of
tears. It was not merely this event, it was a good many little events that had
been piling up during many trying days; and the night was chill, and the world
outside was in gloom, and Lewis was away, to be gone all night, and for two
nights to come, and it seemed to the young wife as though two nights
represented years, and it seemed a long time since she had seen her mother,
and she was sorry for poor, little, banished Nellie—and so she cried. She had
some vindictive thoughts also; she told herself that this struggle to belong to
the family, and be one of them, was perfect nonsense; and she had borne it
quite as long as any human being could be expected to; Lewis would insist on
a separate home whenever she gave the hint; what was the use in trying to
endure this sort of thing longer? Mrs. Morgan had insulted her; why should
she bear it? She would not go down to supper; she would not go down again
to-night; she would send word that, at least so long as her husband was
absent, she would remain in her room, and not irritate the mistress of the
house by her presence. She would write to her mother, and tell her just what a
hateful world this was, and how disagreeable a person named "mother" could
be. She would go home, would start to-morrow morning, and telegraph Lewis
to take the westward train instead of the eastern, and meet her there; and
they would stay until Father Morgan was willing to give them, what was her
husband's right, a spot for himself. To be sure, she meant to do none of these
dire things; but it was a sort of luxury to go over them in her heart, and
imagine what she could do, the sensation that she could create, if she chose.

This is one of the miserable snares with which Satan trips the feet of unwary
saints, leading them to feel that to luxuriate in bitter thoughts, which they really
do not intend to carry out, is no harm; letting them forget that by just so much
is their spirituality weakened, and their communion with Christ cut off. It was in
this case but a partial victory, for Louise, presently feeling the gloom of heart
too much for her to struggle under, looked about for relief, and being used to
seeking it but in one place, dropped on her knees and carried the whole
dreary scene to Him who bears our sorrows and carries our griefs; and when,
almost an hour afterward, she answered Dorothy's summons to tea, her face
was serene and her heart at rest.

Nellie was at the table, a trifle more quiet than usual—albeit she was always a
meek and quiet little mouse—her face a shade paler than usual, and her eyes
disposed to seek Louise's with a questioning gaze, as if she would determine
whether she had been considered naughty; but when Louise answered the
question by a tender, reassuring smile, the little face became radiant.

I want you to do Mother Morgan justice. She was by no means cruel

intentionally; she would not have kept Nellie in the cold five minutes had her
nature realized the situation. Her own blood was fairly boiling in her veins; she
could not have conceived of the possibility of anybody being chilled that day.
She honestly believed Dorothy to be a simpleton, and Louise to be trying to
interfere with her duties as the mistress of the family. Therefore she had no
self-accusing spirit with which to meet her family at the tea-table; so she was
self-poised and dignified. But Louise, in her half-hour of communion in the
chamber of peace, had found strength enough to bear any amount of dignity,
and carried herself sweetly and helpfully through the hour.

Into the gloom of that rainy night came a guest that dispelled all the dignity,
and made each member of the unfortunately constructed household feel of
kin. Louise was the first to hear it, even before Dorothy, that strange, hoarse
cough, which has fallen in so many a household almost like the sound of
earth-clods on a coffin, and which too often has been but the forerunner of
that very sound. Louise had heard it from the little sister at home often
enough, and understood the signal so well that it brought her to her feet with a
bound; so that when Dorothy, a few moments later, knocked hesitatingly at her
door, she answered with a quick "Yes, dear," and threw it wide-open, herself
nearly dressed.

"O Louise! Do you hear Nellie? Isn't she very sick?"

"She has the croup, Dorrie. I am going right down."

And Louise searched rapidly, yet with the air of one who knew what she
wanted and where it was, in her trunk for a package.

Dorothy shivered.

"O Louise! What if mother doesn't think there is much the matter with her, and
will not do things?"

"I wouldn't borrow trouble, dear. Your poor mother is more likely to be
overwhelmed with anxiety. Come down; we can find something to do." And
she sped swiftly downstairs.

Whereupon Dorothy's courage returned. She followed suit, and immediately

attacked the stove, and arranged kindlings with skilled fingers, and applied her
match, and lifted on the large kettle, and filled it with water; while Louise
pushed boldly into the bedroom, none too soon, for the white-faced mother
sorely needed help.

It was a rapid and very severe form of that terrible disease, and there were no
young men to hasten for a doctor, though anxiety lent haste to the old father's
fingers, and he was even then saddling a horse with what speed he could.
"Have you tried hot water?" was Louise's first question, as she hastened to
raise the head of the struggling, suffering child.

"No," said Mrs. Morgan, her voice expressing an anxiety that she could not
conceal. "There is no hot water; and there isn't anything; and the doctor will
never get here. There is no fire."

"Yes, there is," said Louise, who already caught its brisk snapping. "Dorrie is
there; we will have hot water in five minutes," and she hurried to the kitchen.

"That's right, Dorrie; just a little water, so we can have it at once; then set the
other kettle on, and fill it half full, and as soon as it heats fill up. And, Dorrie,
get a tub; run for blankets. But, first, where's a spoon?"

"Have you the medicine that you use?" This to the mother, for she was back
again beside her.

"No," said Mrs. Morgan again in that same distressed tone; "I haven't
anything."

Then Louise produced her package, and untied it with rapid fingers.

"This is what my mother uses for my little sister."

Mrs. Morgan, senior, seized the bottle, gave one glance at the label, and
returned it with a brief, decisive sentence, "Give her some."

And the already secured spoon was promptly produced and the medicine
dropped, none too soon, for it was growing momently harder for Nellie to
swallow anything.

Don't you know just how they worked, those three women, for the next hour,
over that child? If I write for those who have had no experience in such
suffering, where there is such dire need of haste, and where all remedies at
times are utter failures, blessed are they, although Louise blessed the past
hours of experience that had given her knowledge and skill for this night. Both
were needed, for Mrs. Morgan's usually cold nerves were trembling, and a
terrible fear of what might be coming blanched her face, and made her limbs
tremble beneath her. She gave herself unresistingly to the lead of Louise and
Dorothy; for Dorothy, the moment she found something to do, sprung into
action and energy, and the hot water bath was ready almost before it had
seemed possible.
Nellie, in the midst of her sufferings, had strength to greet Louise's coming
with a smile; and, although it was hard work to speak at all, murmured, as the
face of her sister recalled the earlier events of the afternoon, "He took me."

"What does she say?" asked the mother, her voice sharpened with pain.

Louise hesitated a moment; then, struggling to keep back the tears, answered
steadily, smiling on Nellie,—

"She is referring to a little conversation which she and I had this afternoon.
She gave herself away to Jesus, and she is telling me that he took her.—Yes,
darling; I know he did."

A sharp cry, almost as from a wounded animal, escaped the drawn lips of the
mother; then she gave herself with renewed energy to the work of fighting
disease.

And the clock was watched eagerly, and the drops administered at just such
moments; and the bath was replenished, and the rubbing of feet and hands
went on, and the compresses were changed constantly; and, just as Dorothy,
with a little gasp of relief, said, "There's the doctor!" as the sound of voices
was heard in the hall, Louise and her mother-in-law said, in the same breath,
"She breathes easier!"

"Well," said the doctor, after the patient had been examined, and the drops
from Louise's bottle looked into, and the questions had been answered, "you
have really done all there was to be done, and the little woman is past the
crisis for to-night; but it was a tough case, I guess. That medicine works like a
charm sometimes, and sometimes it doesn't. It helps, though, where there is
hot water, and speed and good judgment to supplement it."

The Morgan family were not likely to forget the experiences of that night. To
each member of it they had been peculiar. No one knows, or at least can
describe, the emotions which tugged at the heart of the father, as he galloped
through the gloom of that night, not knowing but that the death angel, who
evidently hovered near, would have gone away with his youngest born before
he could get back to her. No one, perhaps, but the Searcher of hearts will ever
know what the mother felt as she strained every nerve to hold back the
destroyer, and yet thought she saw his grim steps approaching. Through all
the swift working and swift thinking, the strongest feeling of Louise's heart had
been pity for that mother. All the events of the dreary afternoon photographed
themselves before her with startling distinctness. What must they be to the
mother? Swiftly as she worked, and entirely as she seemed to give her mind
to the needs of the hour, with every motion there went up a prayer that the
Great Physician would, for the mother's sake, speak the word of healing; and
presently there went up the prayer of grateful acknowledgment. Fair little
Nellie, as she lay back at last, white and exhausted with her hard hours of
suffering, seemed possessed with something like the same feeling of pity for
the mother, but she gave it expression in a way that almost broke that
mother's heart. Putting up her weak little hand as the mother bent over her,
she patted tenderly the white, wrinkled cheek, and said, in the most loving and
penitent of tones,—

"Dear mamma, I didn't mean to be naughty."

Then, indeed, the strain that had been upon the mother's heart, not only for
that afternoon, but for days and weeks, gave way suddenly, and with the bitter
cry, "O Nellie, don't!" she burst into a passion of tears.

CHAPTER XXV.
UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER.

A SECOND time in her life did Mrs. Morgan, senior, seek her daughter-in-
law's room. Not unsolicited, however. Louise, all unknowingly, planned the
way for an easier approach.

"Mother," she said, toward the evening of the day that followed that night of
watching, "won't you just slip up to my room and lie down for an hour or two?
You look so tired, and you know you had no rest at all last night. Dorrie and I
will take the best possible care of Nellie; and, indeed, she looks so bright as to
hardly need care."

This invitation had been repeated at intervals during the day; but Mrs. Morgan,
though not repellent in her manner, had steadily resisted every suggestion,
and yet had seemed not ungrateful for the thoughtfulness.
"Perhaps I will by-and-by," she had said to Louise's last suggestion; but it was
an hour afterward, when Louise had despaired of her success and had sought
her room, that Mrs. Morgan tapped at her door.

"That is good," the daughter said briskly. "Let me bring a cover and arrange
the pillows comfortably, and you will get a nice rest before Nellie misses you."

"Wait," said Mrs. Morgan, arresting Louise's quick steps; "don't fix the bed. I
have not come to lie down; I don't feel like resting; I want to talk with you. Sit
down here by the fire. I suppose I need your help. I need something—I don't
really know what. I have been having a very hard time."

"I know it," said Louise, quick sympathy in her voice. "Last night was a heavy
strain. But you can safely rest now, she is so much better. I never saw any one
rally so rapidly."

"I don't mean that. My hard time did not begin last night. I don't feel sure that I
can tell you when it began; away back. I have made some of my hard times, I
can see that. I have been disappointed in my children. John disappointed me,
long ago; I had ambitions for him, I had plans, and everything happened to
thwart them. I felt hard at Lewis sometimes because he seemed to come in
the way; and I felt hard—well, at everything. I have thought that his father did
not treat him just as I would have done if I had been a father. So I have just
gone through life, being out of sorts at everything."

"For a while after you came here I had hopes that John would take to you, and
that he would come out all right; and when I saw how much stress you laid on
prayer, I began to feel glad that you were praying for John, and to sort of
expect that good would come out of it. Then you know how awfully I was
disappointed, and how things went from bad to worse. Then after he went
away it seemed to me as though my heart turned to stone. I didn't feel as
though I cared much for the other children, and I didn't want to. Dorothy
provoked me, and Lewis provoked me, and you provoked me worst of all. I
have grown harder and bitterer every day; I was rebellious at God; I thought
he had treated me badly. I got down on my knees once and prayed for John;
and I said to myself that He ought to have heard me, and he didn't, and I
couldn't forgive him."

"Then came last night. I was hard on my poor little girl. I didn't punish her
hard, I don't mean that. I just gave her three or four slaps, which, if they had
been given in sport, she wouldn't have minded. It was her heart that I hurt,
and I knew it. I knew at the time that I was punishing her unjustly. The child
didn't mean to be disobedient—didn't know that she was; but I had been
having a dreadful day, and it seemed an actual relief to have some escape for
my bitterness. So I whipped her. But I have been punished for it. Last night
was an awful night! If she had died I believe I should have lost my reason.
And I thought she would die; I believed that God had sent for her in retribution.
Yet I cried to him. I told him I had been bitter and severe and rebellious, and
was yet; but that if he would spare my baby I would try to serve him—I would
do anything that he told me. Now he has taken me at my word when I didn't
expect it, and I am a woman who has always been noted for keeping a
promise. I mean to keep this one, but I don't know how. I don't even know
what he wants of me. It seemed to me that you ought to know, and to be able
to tell me, so I have come to you for help."

Throughout the telling of this story Louise had not interrupted by word or
movement; but long before it was concluded the sympathetic tears were
dropping on her mother's hand. Directly the steady, unnaturally quiet voice
ceased, this servant of Christ was ready with his message.

"O mother, what he wants of you is to lean your head upon his bosom, and tell
him all your fears and cares and disappointments, and let him whisper to you,
'Daughter, be of good courage.' He loves you, mother, and he loves John, and
Nellie, and all your flock. He wants to save you all in his everlasting arms, and
bring you, an unbroken family, to his Father's house. I believe he will do it.
And in return he asks your love; and you know, mother, when we stop to think
of it, it would be simply impossible to help loving one who waits to do all this
for us and ours."

Mrs. Morgan looked at her daughter with grave, earnest eyes, and slowly
shook her head.

"It may not be possible for you to help loving him, but I don't feel a bit of love
in my heart. It feels as hard as flint. I believe that he is willing to do a great
deal for me, and yet I don't seem to care."

"Mother, tell him so." Louise's voice trembled with the earnestness of her
desire. "He is unlike any other friend. To a human friend we could not go,
saying simply: 'I know I ought to love you, but I don't. Show me how.' But to
the tender Saviour we can come with even this story. Mother, do not wait to
feel as you think you ought. You have promised to serve him. You say you
mean to keep the promise; then just give yourself to him. Be sure he will
accept the gift, and fill your heart with joy in return."

"But, Louise, that would be simply mockery. He asks for love, and I cannot
love him. I feel as though I had no love for anybody."
Louise shook her head. "No, if you are sincere you cannot mock him. He
made the heart. You cannot make your heart love him, but you can resolve to
give yourself to him, to obey his directions, to follow his voice, and I do assure
you he will see to all the rest. Will you keep your promise?"

Then there was silence. Mrs. Morgan was evidently puzzled, as well as
painfully embarrassed. The way was darker to her than it had been to Nellie.
She had not the faith of a little child to rest upon.

"How much does the promise mean?" she asked at last "What would I have to
do?"

"It means everything," said Louise solemnly; "you would have to do just
exactly as God directs. He has promised to guide you, and you are to promise
to be guided every step of the way; to have no will of your own, to lose your
will in his. Will you do it?"

"But if he directs what I cannot do?"

"There is no possibility of such an 'if,' mother; he will be sure to give the power
to do, with the command. Unless you mean 'will not' by 'cannot,' there is
nothing in the way. The world is full of people who say, 'I can't,' when in their
hearts they know they mean 'I won't.' But you are an honest woman; you will
not say I cannot to God, knowing that you could, if you would. Mother, will you
redeem your promise? See here; your little Nellie sat in that chair where you
are only yesterday, and she knelt beside me and prayed this prayer,—"

"'Here, Lord, I give myself away;

'Tis all that I can do.'"

"When she arose from her knees she said, 'He took me.' Will you use Nellie's
prayer, mother? If you will, I am sure you will receive her answer. Will you
kneel down with me, now and here?"

I cannot assure you that the daughter's faith was strong; she was startled at
her heart's own beating, and a great deal of the emotion was the result of
anxiety. It was evidently the turning-point in Mrs. Morgan's life, but how would
she decide it? Would she kneel down and deliberately give herself away to
Christ, even in this darkness, declaring that she had no love in her heart for
him? Louise was afraid; and the silence lasted. She did not know what else to
say; she was afraid to speak again, so she kept silent. But, oh, how her heart