in dialogue and ethical analysis of motives, they enable us to give form and substance to the drier details of the law-courts.  One of these narratives I propose to condense from the transcript made by Henri Beyle, for the sake of the light it throws upon the tragedy of the Caraffa family.[207] It opens with an account of Paul IV.’s ascent to power and a description of his nephews.  Don Giovanni, the eldest son of the Count of Montorio, was married to Violante de Cardona, sister of the Count Aliffe.  Paul invested him with the Duchy of Palliano, which he wrested from Marc Antonio Colonna.  Don Carlo, the second son, who had passed his life as a soldier, entered the Sacred College; and Don Antonio, the third, was created Marquis of Montebello.  The cardinal, as prime minister, assumed the reins of government in Rome.  The Duke of Palliano disposed of the Papal soldiery.  The Marquis of Montebello, commanding the guard of the palace, excluded or admitted persons at his pleasure.  Surrounded by these nephews, Paul saw only with their eyes, heard only what they whispered to him, and unwittingly lent his authority to their lawlessness.  They exercised an unlimited tyranny in Rome, laying hands on property and abusing their position to gratify their lusts.  No woman who had the misfortune to please them was safe; and the cells of convents were as little respected as the palaces of gentlefolk.  To arrive at justice was impossible; for the three brothers commanded all avenues, civil, ecclesiastical, and military, by which the Pope could be approached.

Violante, Duchess of Palliano, was a young woman distinguished for her beauty no less than for her Spanish pride.  She had received a thoroughly Italian education; could recite the sonnets of Petrarch and the stanzas of Ariosto by heart, and repeated the tales of Ser Giovanni and other novelists with an originality that lent new charm to their style.[208] Her court was a splendid one, frequented by noble youths and gentlewomen of the best blood in Naples.  Two of these require particular notice:  Diana Brancaccio, a relative of the Marchioness of Montebello; and Marcello Capecce, a young man of exceptional beauty.  Diana was a woman of thirty years, hot-tempered, tawny-haired, devotedly in love with Domiziano Fornari, a squire of the Marchese di Montebello’s household.  Marcello had conceived one of those bizarre passions for the Duchess, in which an almost religious adoration was mingled with audacity, persistence, and aptitude for any crime.  The character of his mistress gave him but little hope.  Though profoundly wounded by her husband’s infidelities, insulted in her pride by the presence of his wanton favorites under her own roof, and assailed by the importunities of the most brilliant profligates in Rome, she held a haughty course, above suspicion, free from taint or stain, Marcello could do nothing but sigh at a distance and watch his opportunity.

[Footnote 207:  ‘La Duchesse de Palliano,’ in Chroniques et Nouvelles, De Stendhal (Henri Beyle).]