FOOTNOTES:

Cerchi chi vuol le pompe e gli alti onori;

and that well known and charming one, "Sopra Violetti,"

Non di verdi giardin, ornati e colti, &c.

both of which have been happily translated by Roscoe; and to these may be added the address to Cytherea—

Lascia l' isola tua tanta diletta!Lascia il tuo regno delicato e belloCiprigna Dea! &c.

There is another, not so well known, distinguished by its peculiar fancy and elegance—

Spesso mi torna a mente, anzi già mai, &c.

In this he recalls to mind the time and the place, and even the vesture in which his gentle lady first appeared to him—

Quanto vaga, gentil, leggiadra, e piaNon si può dir, ne imaginar assai;

and he beautifully adds,

Quale sopra i nevosi, ed alti montiApollo spande il suo bel lume adorno,Tal' i crin suoi sopra la bianca gonna!Il tempo e 'l luogo non convien ch' io conti,Che dov' è si bel sole è sempre giorno;E Paradiso, ov' è si bella Donna!

"As over the snowy summits of the high mountains Apollo sheds his golden beams, so flowed her golden tresses over her white vest.—But for thetimeand theplace, is it necessary that I should note them? Where shines so fair a sun, can it be other than day? Where dwells so excellent a beauty, can it be other than Paradise?"

It happened in the midst of Lorenzo's visions of love and poetry, that he was called upon to give his hand to a wife chosen by his father for political reasons. His inclinations were not consulted,as is plain from the blunt amusing manner in which he has noted it down in his memoranda. "I, Lorenzo, took to wife Donna Clarice Orsini,—or rather she was given to me, (ovvero mi fu data) on such a day." Yet a union thus inauspiciously contracted, was rendered, by the affectionate disposition of Lorenzo, and the amiable qualities of his wife, rather happy than otherwise; it is true, we have no poetical compliments addressed by Lorenzo to Donna Clarice, but there is extant a little billet written to her a few months after their marriage, from the tone of which it is fair to suppose, that Lorenzo had exchanged his poetic flame for a real attachment to an amiable woman.[62]

There is a very beautiful and elegant passage in the beginning of Lorenzo's commentary on his own poems, in which he enlarges on the theory of love. "The conditions (he says) which appear necessarily to belong to a true, exalted, and worthy love, are two. First,—to love but one: secondly,—to love that one always. Not many lovers have hearts so generous as to be capable of fulfilling these two conditions; and exceedingly few women display sufficient attractions to withhold men from the violation of them; yet without these there is no true love." And afterwards, enumerating those charms of person and mind which inspire affection, he adds, "and yet these estimable qualities are not enough, unless the lover possess sensibility of heart to discern them, and elevation and generosity of soul to appreciate them."

This in the original is very elegantly expressed, and the sentiment is as true as it is exalted and graceful; but that Lorenzo was not always thus philosophically refined, that he could descendfrom these Platonics to be impassioned and in earnest, and that when touched to the heart, he could pour forth the language of the heart, we have a single instance, which it is impossible to allude to without feeling some emotion of curiosity, which can never now be gratified.

We find among Lorenzo's poems, written later in life than those addressed to Lucretia Donati, one entitled simply "An Elegy;" the style is different from that of his earlier poetry, and has more of the terseness and energy of Dante than the sweetness and flow of Petrarch. It begins

"Vinto dagli amorosi, empi martiri."

"Subdued by the fierce pangs of my love, a thousand times have I taken up the pen, to tell thee, O gentle lady mine, all the sighs of my sick heart. Then fearing thy displeasure, I have, on a second thought, flung it from me. * * * Yet must I speak, for if words were wanting, my pallid cheek would betray my suffering."

He then tells her that he does not seek her dishonour, but only her kind thoughts, and that he may find a place within her gentle heart.

Perchè non cerco alcun tuo disonore,Ma sol la grazia tua, e che piaciChe'l mio albergo sia dentro al tuo core!

He wishes that he might be once permitted to twine his fingers in her fair hair; to gaze into her eyes;—but he complains that she will not even meet his look,—that she resolutely turns her eyes another way at his approach.—"But do with me what thou wilt: while I live upon this earth, still I must love thee, since it so pleaseth Heaven—I swear it! and my hand writes it!

"Come then! oh come, while yet thy gracious looks may avail me, for delay is death to one who loves likes me! Would I could send with this scroll all the torture of heart, the tears and sighs,the gesture and the look, that should accompany it!"

Ma s' egli avvien, che soletti ambo insieme,Posso il braccio tenerti al collo avvolto,Vedrai come d'amore alto arde e geme,Vedrai cader dal mio pallido volto,Nel tuo candido sen lagrime tante.

(I leave these lines untranslated for the benefit of the Italian reader). After a few more stanzas, we have this very unequivocal passage:

"O would to Heaven, lady, that marriage had made us one! ah, why didst thou not come into this world a little sooner?—or I a little later? Yet why these vain thoughts? since I am doomed to see thee the bride of another, and am myself fettered in these marriage bonds!

"Thou knowest, Madonna, that these sighs, these burning words, are not feigned; for even as Love dictates does my hand write.

"My life and death are with thee;—grant mebut a few words, and I am content to live;—if not, let me die! and let my poor remains be laid in some forlorn and sequestered spot. Let none whisper the cause of my death, lest it should grieve thee! enough if some kind hand engrave upon my tomb,—'He perished through too much love and too much cruelty.'"

I have given, literally, the leading sentiments of this little poem, but have left untranslated many of the stanzas. There are one or two concetti; but as Ginguené truly observes on a different occasion, "Dans les poëtes Italiens, souvent la passion est vraie, même quand l'expression ne l'est pas."

The style is so natural, the transitions so abrupt, the expressions so energetic, and there are so few of those descriptive ornaments which are plentifully scattered through Lorenzo's other poems, that I should pronounce it the real effusion of a heart, touched,—and deeply touched. It is to be regretted that we know nothing of the name or real character of an object who, deserving or not, could call forth such strong lines as these;and in the plenitude of his power and fame, and in the midst of his great and serious avocations, deeply, though secretly, tyrannise over the peace of Lorenzo.

He is accused,—I regret that I must allude to it,—of considerable licence of manners with regard to women;—a reproach from which Roscoe has fairly vindicated him. United, at the age of twenty-one, to a woman he had never seen; residing in a dissipated capital, surrounded by temptation, and from disposition peculiarly sensible to the influence of women, it is not matter of astonishment if Lorenzo's conjugal faith was not preserved immaculate,—if he occasionally became the thrall of beauty, and—(since he was not likely to be caught by vulgar charms,)—if he sighed,par hazard, for one who was not to be tempted by power or gold: such a one as his Elegy indicates. Two points are certain,—that his uniform respect and kindness to his wife Clarice, left her no reason to complain; while his discretion was such, that though historians have hazarded a general accusation against him in this one particular,there exists not in any contemporary writer one scandalous anecdote of his private life, nor the name of any woman to whom he was attached, except that of his poetical love, Lucretia Donati.

Lorenzo de' Medici was not handsome in face, nor graceful in form; but he was captivating in his manners, and excelled in all manly exercises. The engraving prefixed to Roscoe's life of him, does not do justice to his countenance. I remember the original picture in the gallery of Florence, on which I have looked day after day for many minutes together, with an interest that can only be felt on the very spot where the memory of Lorenzo is "wherever we look, wherever we move." In spite of the stoop in the shoulders, the unbecoming dress, and the harsh features, I was struck by the grand simplicity of the head, and the mingled expression of acuteness, benevolence, and earnest thought in the countenance; the imagination filled with the splendid character of the man, might possibly have perceived more than the eye,—but such was my impression.

Lorenzo died in his forty-fourth year, in 1492. He is not interred in that celebrated chapel of his family, rich with the sublimest productions of Michael Angelo's chisel: he lies at the opposite side of the church, in a magnificent sarcophagus of bronze, which contains also the ashes of his murdered brother, Giuliano.—Among the recollections, sweet and bitter, which I brought from Florence, is the remembrance of a day when retiring, from the glare of an Italian noontide, I stood in the church of San Lorenzo, sketching the tomb of Lorenzo and Giuliano de' Medici. The spot whence I viewed it was so obscure, that I could scarce see the lines traced by my pencil; but immediately behind the sarcophagus, there flowed from above a stream of strong light, relieving with added effect the dark outline of the sculptured ornaments. Through the grating which formed the background, I could see the figures of shaven monks and stoled priests gliding to and fro, like apparitions; and while I thought more,—Omuch more,—of the still and cold repose which wrapped the dead, than of their high deeds and far-spread fame, the plaintive music of a distant choir, chanting theVia crucis, floated through the pillared aisles, receding or approaching as the singers changed their station; swelling, sinking, and at length dying away on the ear.

FOOTNOTES:[61]Lorenzo tells us in the original, that the ladies who rendered themselves thus insupportable, were called (vulgarly)Saccenti:—query—vulgarly, Blue-stockings?[62]Lorenzo de' Medici to his wife Clarice:—"I arrived here in safety, and am in good health: this, I believe, will please thee better than any thing else, except my return, at least so I judge from my own desire to be once more with thee. Associate as much as possible with my father and sisters. I shall make all possible speed to return to thee, for it appears a thousand years till I see thee again. Pray to God for me—if thou want any thing from this place write in time. From Milan, 22d July, 1469.Thy Lorenzo."

[61]Lorenzo tells us in the original, that the ladies who rendered themselves thus insupportable, were called (vulgarly)Saccenti:—query—vulgarly, Blue-stockings?

[62]Lorenzo de' Medici to his wife Clarice:—"I arrived here in safety, and am in good health: this, I believe, will please thee better than any thing else, except my return, at least so I judge from my own desire to be once more with thee. Associate as much as possible with my father and sisters. I shall make all possible speed to return to thee, for it appears a thousand years till I see thee again. Pray to God for me—if thou want any thing from this place write in time. From Milan, 22d July, 1469.Thy Lorenzo."

[62]Lorenzo de' Medici to his wife Clarice:—

"I arrived here in safety, and am in good health: this, I believe, will please thee better than any thing else, except my return, at least so I judge from my own desire to be once more with thee. Associate as much as possible with my father and sisters. I shall make all possible speed to return to thee, for it appears a thousand years till I see thee again. Pray to God for me—if thou want any thing from this place write in time. From Milan, 22d July, 1469.Thy Lorenzo."

In the reign of the second Grand Duke of Tuscany, of Lorenzo's family, (Cosmo I.) Florence, it is said, beheld a novel and extraordinary spectacle: a young traveller, from a court and a country which the Italians of that day seemed to regard much as we now do the Esquimaux,[63]combining the learning of the scholar and the amiable bearing of the courtier, with all the rash bravery of youthful romance, astonished the inhabitants of that queenly city, first, by rivalling her polished nobles in the splendour of his state, and gallantry of his manners, andnext, by boldly proclaiming that his "lady love" was superior to all that Italy could vaunt of beauty, that she was "oltre le belle, bella," fair beyond the fairest,—and maintaining his boast in a solemn tourney held in her honour, to the overthrow of all his opponents.

This was our English Surrey; one of the earliest and most elegant of our amatory poets, and the lover of the Fair Geraldine.

It must be admitted that the fame of the Earl of Surrey does not rest merely on title, and that if the fair Geraldine had never existed, he would still have lived in history as an accomplished scholar, soldier, courtier, and been lamented as the noble victim of a suspicious tyrant. But if some fair object of romantic gallantry had not given the impulse to his genius, and excited him to try his powers in a style of which no models yet existed in his native language,[64]—it may be doubted whether his name would have descended to us with all those poeticaland chivalrous associations which give a charm and an interest to his memory, far beyond that of a mere historical character. As for the fair-haired, blue-eyed Geraldine, the mistress of his fancy and affections, and the subject of his verse, her identity long layentombed, as it were, in a poetical name; but Surrey had loved her, had maintained her beauty at the point of his lance—had made her "famous by his pen, and glorious by his sword." This was more than enough to excite the interest and the inquiries of posterity, and lo! antiquaries and commentators fell to work, archives were searched, genealogies were traced, and at length the substance of this beautiful poetical shadow was detected: she was proved to have been the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald, afterwards the wife of a certain Earl of Lincoln, of whom little is known—but that he married the woman Surrey had loved.

Surrey has ingeniously contrived to compress, within the compass of a sonnet, some of the most interesting particulars of the personal and family history of his mistress. The Fitzgeralds derivetheir origin from the Geraldi of Tuscany,—hence

From Tuscan came my ladye's worthy race,Fair Florence was sometime their ancient seat.

She was born and nurtured in Ireland—

Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast.

Her father was the Earl of Kildare, her mother allied to the blood royal.

Her sire an Earl, her dame of Prince's blood.

She was brought up (through motives of compassion, after the misfortunes of her family,) at Hunsdon, with the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth, where Surrey, who frequently visited them in company with the young Duke of Richmond,[65]first beheld her.

Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyes.

She was then extremely young, not above fourteen or fifteen, as it appears from comparative dates; and Surrey says very clearly,

She wanted years to understandThe grief that he did feel.

But even then her budding charms made him confess as he beautifully expresses it—

How soon a look can print a thoughtThat never may remove!

It was during the festivals held at Hampton Court, whither she accompanied the Princesses, that her conquest was completed; and Surrey being afterwards confined at Windsor,[66]was deprived of her society.

Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight;Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine,Windsor, alas! doth chase me from her sight.

Hampton Court was the scene of their frequent interviews. Surrey mentions a certain recessed or bow window, in which, retired apart from the gay throng around them, they held "converse sweet." Here she gave him, as it seems, some encouragement; too proud of such a distinguished suitor to let him escape. He in the same moment confesses himself a very slave, and betrays an indignant consciousness of the arts by which she keeps him entangled in her chain.

In silence tho' I keep to such secrets myself,Yet do I see how she sometime, doth yield a look by stealth;As tho' it seemed, I wis,—"I will not lose thee so!"When in her heart so sweet a thought did never truly grow.

He accuses her expressly of a love of general admiration, and of giving her countenance and favour to unworthy rivals. In "The Warning to a Lover how he is abused by his Love," he thus addresses himself as the deceived lover:—

Where thou hast loved so long, with heart and all thy power,I see thee fed with feigned words, &c.I see her pleasant cheer in chiefest of thy suit:When thou art gone, I see him come who gathers up the fruit;And eke in thy respect, I see the base degreeOf him to whom she gives the heart, that promised was to thee![67]

The fair Geraldine must have been a practised coquette to have sat for a picture so finished and so strongly marked: yet before we blame her for this disdainful trifling, it should be remembered that Lord Surrey, at the time he was wooing her with "musicke vows," was either married or contracted to another,[68]—a circumstancequite in keeping with the fashionable system of Platonic gallantry introduced from Italy—

O Plato! Plato! you have been the cause, &c.

and so forth. I forbear to continue the apostrophe.

According to the old tradition, repeated by all Surrey's biographers, he visited on his travels the famous necromancer Cornelius Agrippa, who in a magic mirror revealed to him the fair figure of his Geraldine, lying dishevelled on a couch, and, by the light of a taper, reading one of his tenderest sonnets.

Fair all the pageant, but how passing fairThe slender form that lay on couch of Ind!O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair,Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined.All in her night-robe loose, she lay reclined,And pensive read from tablet eburnine,Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find;—That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line,That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine![69]

This beautiful incident is too celebrated, tootouching, not to be one of the articles of our poetical faith. It was believed by Surrey's contemporaries, and in the age immediately following was gravely related by a grave historian. It shows at least the celebrity which his poetry, unequalled at that time, had given to his love, and the object of it. In fact, when divested of the antique spelling, which, at the first glance, revolts by the impression it gives of difficulty and obscurity, some of the lyrics of Surrey have not since been surpassed either in elegance of sentiment, or flowing grace of expression:—for example—

A Praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that comparetheir Ladies with his.Give place ye lovers here before,That spent your boastes and braggs in vain,My ladye's beauty passeth moreThe best of yours, I dare well sayne,Then doth the sun the candle light,Or brightest day the darkest night.And thereto hath a truth as just,As had Penelope the fair:For what she sayeth you may it trust.As it by writing sealed were;And virtues hath she many moe,Than I with pen have skill to show.

A Praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that comparetheir Ladies with his.

Give place ye lovers here before,That spent your boastes and braggs in vain,My ladye's beauty passeth moreThe best of yours, I dare well sayne,Then doth the sun the candle light,Or brightest day the darkest night.And thereto hath a truth as just,As had Penelope the fair:For what she sayeth you may it trust.As it by writing sealed were;And virtues hath she many moe,Than I with pen have skill to show.

The following sonnet is rather a specimen of versification than of sentiment: the subject is borrowed from Petrarch.

Alas! so all things now do hold their peace,Heaven and earth disturbed in no thing;The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease,And the night's car the stars about doth bring:Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less:So am not I, whom love, alas! doth wring,Bringing before my face the great increaseOf my desires, whereas I weep and sing,In joy and woe, as in a doubtful case.For my sweet thoughts, some time do pleasure bring;But by and by, the cause of my disease,Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting,When that I think, what grief it is againTo live, and lack the thing should rid my pain.

Geraldine was so beautiful as to authorise the raptures of her poetical lover. Even in herlater years, when as Countess of Lincoln, she attended on Queen Elizabeth, she retained so much of her excelling loveliness, that the adoration paid to her in youth, was not wondered at; and her celebrity as Surrey's early love, is alluded to by cotemporary writers.[70]There can be no doubt that she was an accomplished woman: the learned education the Princesses received at Hunsdon, (in the advantages of which she participated,) is well known. Her father, Lord Kildare, was a man of vigorous intellect and uncommon attainments for the age in which he lived. He was the eighth Earl of his noble family, and being engaged in the disturbances of Ireland, then a scene of eternal dissension and bloodshed between the native princes and the lords of the English pale, he fell under the displeasure of Henry the Eighth: his eldest son, and his five brothers, who had been seized as hostages, were executed on the same day at Tyburn, and the "stout old Earl," as he is calledin history, died broken-hearted in the Tower. The mother of Geraldine is rendered interesting to us by a little family trait, related by one of our old Chroniclers.[71]Lord Kildare, he tells us, "was so well affected to his wife, as he would not at anie time buy a suite of apparel for himself, but he would suite her with the same stuffe; the which gentlenesse she recompensed with equal kindnesse; for after that he, the said Earle, deceased in the Tower, she did not onely live a chaste and honourable widow, but also nightly, before she went to bed, she would resorte to his picture, and there, with a solemncongé, she would bid her Lorde good nighte."

This Countess of Kildare was Lady Elizabeth Grey, granddaughter of that famous Lady Elizabeth Grey, whose virtue made her the queen of Edward the Fourth. Thus the fair Geraldine was cousin to the young princes who were smothered in the Tower, and may truly be said to have been of "Prince's blood."

It must be admitted that the general tone of Surrey's poems does not give us a favourable idea of the fair Geraldine's manners and character. She was variable, coquetish, and fond of admiration;—on this point I have offered some apology for her. She is accused also of marrying twice, frommercenarymotives, and thus forfeiting the attachment of her noble and poetical lover.[72]This is unfair, I think; there is noproofthat Geraldine married solely frommercenarymotives. Surrey was himself married, and both the men to whom she was successively united,[73]were eminent in their day for high personal qualities, though in comparison with Surrey, they have been reduced to hide their diminished heads in peerages and genealogies.

The Earl of Surrey was beheaded in 1547. The fair Geraldine was living forty years afterwards: she survived for a short time her secondhusband, Lord Lincoln; and with him lies buried under a sumptuous tomb at Windsor: she left no descendants. Her youngest brother, Edward Fitzgerald, was the lineal ancestor of the present Duke of Leinster.

The only original portrait of the fair Geraldine, now extant, is in the gallery of the Duke of Bedford, at Woburn; and I am told that it is sufficiently beautiful to justify Surrey's admiration.[74]

FOOTNOTES:[63]"Those bears of English—those barbarous islanders," are common phrases in the Italian writers of that age.[64]Surrey introduced the sonnet, and the use of blank verse into our literature. It is a curious fact, that the earliest blank verse extant was written by Saint Francis.[65]Natural brother of the princesses: he was the son of Henry VIII. by Lady Talbot.[66]He was imprisoned for eating meat in Lent.[67]Lady Frances Vere.[68]Surrey's Works: Nott's Edit. 4to.[69]Lay of the Last Minstrel.[70]Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, vol. i.[71]Holinshed.[72]See Nott's edition of Surrey's Works.[73]She was the second wife of Sir Anthony Browne, and the third wife of the Earl of Lincoln, ancestor to the Duke of Newcastle.[74]Those who are curious about historic proofs, may consult Anecdotes of the family of Howard, Memoirs and works of Henry Howard Earl of Surrey, edited by Dr. Nott, Park's Royal and Noble Authors, and Collins' Peerage, by Brydges.

[63]"Those bears of English—those barbarous islanders," are common phrases in the Italian writers of that age.

[64]Surrey introduced the sonnet, and the use of blank verse into our literature. It is a curious fact, that the earliest blank verse extant was written by Saint Francis.

[65]Natural brother of the princesses: he was the son of Henry VIII. by Lady Talbot.

[66]He was imprisoned for eating meat in Lent.

[67]Lady Frances Vere.

[68]Surrey's Works: Nott's Edit. 4to.

[69]Lay of the Last Minstrel.

[70]Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, vol. i.

[71]Holinshed.

[72]See Nott's edition of Surrey's Works.

[73]She was the second wife of Sir Anthony Browne, and the third wife of the Earl of Lincoln, ancestor to the Duke of Newcastle.

[74]Those who are curious about historic proofs, may consult Anecdotes of the family of Howard, Memoirs and works of Henry Howard Earl of Surrey, edited by Dr. Nott, Park's Royal and Noble Authors, and Collins' Peerage, by Brydges.

While the sagacity of Horace Walpole was tracking the identity of the fair Geraldine, through the mazes of poetry and probability,—through parchments, through peerages, through papers, and through patents, he must now and then have been annoyed by the provoking discretion of her chivalrous adorer, which had led him such a chase. But of all the discreet lovers that ever baffled commentators or biographers, commend me to Ariosto! though one of the last from whom discretion might have been expected on such a subject. He is known to have been particularly susceptible to the powerof beauty; passionate in his attachments; and though pensive and abstracted in his general habits, almost irresistibly captivating in his intercourse with women. Yet such was his fine chivalrous feeling for the honour of those who, won by his rare qualities, yielded it to his keeping—"such his marvellous secrecy and modesty," say his Italian biographers, that although the public gaze was fixed upon him in his lifetime, and although, since his death, the minutest circumstances relative to him have been subjects of as much curiosity and research in Italy, as Shakspeare among us; yet a few scattered notices are all that can be brought together to illustrate his charming lyrics.

This mystery was not in Ariosto the effect of chance or affectation; it arose from a principle of conduct faithfully adhered to from youth to age; in behalf of which, and the many beautiful passages expressive of devotion and reverential tenderness towards our sex, scattered through his great poem, we will endeavour, (though at some little sacrifice of the pride anddelicacy of women,) to pardon him, for having treated us most wickedly, on sundry other occasions. As an emblem of the reserve he had imposed on himself, a little bronze Cupid, with his finger on his lip, in token of silence, ornamented his inkstand, which is still preserved at Ferrara.

Of Ariosto's amatory poems, so full of spirit, grace, and a sort of earnest triumphant tenderness, it is impossible to doubt that the objects were real. The earliest of his serious attachments, was to a young girl of the Florentine family of the Lapi, but residing at Mantua, or in its vicinity. Her name was Ginevra,—a name he has tenderly commemorated in the Orlando Furioso, by giving it to one of his most charming and interesting heroines,—Ginevra di Scozia. He has also, after Petrarch's fashion,playedupon this name in one or two of his sonnets;Ginevrosignifying a juniper-tree:

Non voglio (e Febo e Bacco mi perdoni)Che lor frondi mi mostrino poeta,Ma che unGinevrosia che mi coroni!

"I wish not, (may Bacchus and Phœbus pardon me!) either the laurel or the ivy to crown my brows; let my wreath be rather of the thorny juniper!"

His love for Ginevra (which was fondly returned,) began in very early youth; their first interview occurred at aFesta di Ballo,—a fête-champêtre, where Ginevra excelled all her young companions in the dance, as much as she surpassed them in her blooming beauty. He alludes to stolen interviews, in a grove of laurels, and on the banks of the Mincio: and on the whole, confesses that he had no reason to complain of cruelty from the fair Ginevra.[75]This attachment lasted long; for, four years after their first meeting, Ariosto addresses her in a most impassioned strain, and vows that she was then "dearer to him than his own soul, and fairer than ever in his eyes." She seems to have left that permanent impression on his memory and fancy, that shadeof tender regret with which a man of strong sensibility and ardent imagination always recurs to the first love of his youth, even when the passion itself is past. He says himself, when revisiting Mantua many years afterwards, that the scene revived all his former tenderness—

Quel foco ch' io pensai che fosse estinto,Dal tempo, dagli affanni, ed il star lungeSignor pur arde.——

I cannot discover what became of Ginevra ultimately: her fate was a common one: she was loved by a celebrated man, was forsaken, and in exchange for happiness and for love, she has enjoyed for some time a shadowy renown. Her name was usually connected with that of Ariosto, till the researches of later biographers discovered the object of that more celebrated, more serious, and more lasting passion which inspired Ariosto's finest lyrics, which was subsequently sealed by a private marriage, and ended only with the poet's life. In this instance, the modesty of the lady and the discretion of Ariosto have proved in vain, for the name ofAlessandra Strozziis now so inseparablylinked with that of her poet, that Beatrice is not more identified with Dante, nor Laura with Petrarch; though their names be more popular, and their fame more widely spread.

Minor di grido, ma del vanto altera,(E ciò le basta) che suo saggio amanteFu'l grande che cantò l'armi e gli amori—Vedi Alessandra![76]

Alessandra Strozzi was the daughter of Filippo Benucci, and the widow of Tito Strozzi, a noble Florentine and famous Latin poet. At the period of her first acquaintance with Ariosto, she must have been about six-and-twenty, and a beautiful woman, on a very magnificent scale. Though I cannot find that she was distinguished for talents, or any particular taste for literature, she seems to have possessed higher and more loveable qualities, which won Ariosto's admiration and secured his respect to the last.

It was on his return from Rome in 1515, thatAriosto visited Florence, intending merely to witness the grand festival which was then celebrated in honour of St. John the Baptist, and lasted several days. With what animation, what graphic power, he has described in one of his canzoni, the scene and occasion in which he first beheld his mistress! The magnificence of Florence left, he says, few traces on his memory: he could only recollect that in all that fair city, he saw nothing so fair as herself.

Sol mi resta immortaleMemoria, ch'io non vidi in tutta quellaBella città, di voi, cosa più bella.

He had arrived just in time to be present at a fête, to which both were invited, and which Alessandra, notwithstanding her recent widowhood, condescended to adorn with her presence, "da preghi vinta"—conquered by the entreaties of her friends. The whole scene is set forth like some of the living and moving pictures which glow before us in the Orlando.

Porte, finestre, vie, templi, teatri,Vidi pieni di Donne,A giochi, a pompe, a sacrifici intenti.

The portrait of Alessandra in her festal attire, and all her matronly loveliness, looks forth, as it were, from this gorgeous frame, like one of Titian's breathing, full-blown beauties. Her dress is minutely described: it was black, embroidered over with wreaths of vine-leaves and bunches of grapes, in purple and gold; her fair luxuriant hair, gathered in a net behind and parted in front, fell down on either side of her face, in long curls which touched her shoulders.

In aurei nodi, il biondo e spesso crineIn rara e sottil rete, avea raccolto;Soave ombra di drietoRendea al collo, e dinanzi alle confineDelle guance divine;E discendea fin a l' avorio biancoDel destro omero, e manco;Con queste reti, insidiosi amoriPreser quel giorno, più de mille cori!"In golden braids, her fairAnd richly flowing hairWas gather'd in a subtle net behind,—(A subtle net and rare!)And cast sweet shadows thereOver her neck, whilst parted ringlets, twinedIn beauty, from her forehead fell away,And hung adown her cheek where roses lay,Touching the ivory pale, (how pale and white!)Of both her rounded shoulders, left and right.O crafty Loves! no more ye need your darts;For well ye know, how many thousand hearts,(Willing captives on that day,)In those golden meshes lay!"[77]

"In golden braids, her fairAnd richly flowing hairWas gather'd in a subtle net behind,—(A subtle net and rare!)And cast sweet shadows thereOver her neck, whilst parted ringlets, twinedIn beauty, from her forehead fell away,And hung adown her cheek where roses lay,Touching the ivory pale, (how pale and white!)Of both her rounded shoulders, left and right.O crafty Loves! no more ye need your darts;For well ye know, how many thousand hearts,(Willing captives on that day,)In those golden meshes lay!"[77]

On her brow, just where her hair is parted, she wears a sprig of laurel, wondrously wrought in gems and gold;

Quel gemmatoAlloro, tra la serena fronte e l' calle assunto.

After a rapturous, but general description of the lady's surpassing beauty, this animated and admirable canzone concludes with the fine comparisonof himself to the wild falcon, tamed at length to a master's hand and voice:—

La libertade apprezza,Fin che perduta ancor non l' ha il falcone;Preso che sia, deponeDel gire errando sì l' antica voglia,Che sempre che si scioglia,Al suo Signor a render con velociAli s' andrà, dove udirà le voci!

Ariosto, thus enamoured, forgot the flight of time; instead of remaining at Florence a few days, his stay was prolonged to six months; and as he resided in the house of his friend Vespucci, who was the brother-in-law of Alessandra, he had daily opportunities of seeing her, without in any way compromising her matronly dignity. On a certain occasion he finds her employed at her embroidery. She is working a robe, with wreaths of lilies and amaranthes; these emblems of purity and love suggest, of course, the obvious compliments, but in a spirit that places the whole scene before us: Alessandra, gracefully bending at her embroidery-frame, and listening, with veiled lidsand suspended needle, to the tender homage of Ariosto, who repeats, as he hangs over her,—

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