Her letters to her family are always full of vivacity, clear and to the point, but glowing with affection. The friendships she inspired were devoted, even passionate. “It seems as if I had lost not only a tenderly loved sister, but a part of myself,” wrote the Duchess Elisabetta, after one of her visits. “I long to write to you every hour.... If I could clearly express to you my grief, I am sure it would have so much force that compassion would bring you back.” In such a spirit these women wrote to one another. The Latin race is effusive, and the art of expression, which is its supreme gift, no doubt often ran ahead of the feeling or the thought; but these familiar letters bear the stamp of sincerity and help us to know the manner of woman that wrote them. This noble lady of so many gifts and graces was born to lead and not to follow. She could take the affairs of government on occasion, and was amply fitted to rule firmly and wisely. Her first aim was to win the love of her people, which, she says, is of “more value to a State than all its fortresses, treasures, and men-at-arms.” When her husband had matters to settle that required delicate diplomacy, he sent her on a special embassy to the Vatican, where the Pope loaded her with honors and had Bibbiena’s new comedy, “Calandra,” played for her entertainment. A helpful wife was this queen of the Renaissance, and no one knew it better than her husband, whose profession was war, which often led him far from the court she had made so famous. Perhaps she had a trace of pardonable vanity. She deferred a visit to Venice because she did not care to have her modest train brought into so close a contrast with the imposing splendors of the “little sister” whom she loved but did not attempt to rival on her own ground. The glories she most sought were of the intellect and not to be bought with money.