Of scarcely less interest than Isabella d’Este is her sister Beatrice, the fresh, dark-eyed, dark-haired, gay, and laughing girl who went to Milan at fifteen as the bride of Lodovico Sforza, and died before she was twenty-two, after condensing the experiences of a lifetime in a few short years. This court has left the record of much sin and many tragedies, and it furnished some great princesses to the smaller and less imposing ones, but its literary glory was not so conspicuous as its splendor and its crimes. A court that numbered Bramante and Leonardo da Vinci among its stars, however, is not to be passed lightly. These colossal men were not easy to command, and prince as well as princess often appealed to them in vain. It is not likely that they gave much precious time to courtly pleasures, as the first order of genius thrives better in solitude or the sympathetic companionship of the few, though Leonardo was much sought after for his personal accomplishments. But the inspiration of an intelligent woman has more to do with the results of genius than an unthinking and altogether material world is apt to imagine. The Duchess Beatrice was the moving spirit at Milan when its greatest artists were creating the monuments that were to be its lasting glory. Under her critical eye, too, the architects, painters, sculptors, and decorators made the church and cloisters of Certosa things of imperishable beauty, happily unconscious that they were building and carving the tomb of the little lady who was so gracious and so appreciative.