FOOTNOTES:

Yet had she praises in all plenteousnessPour'd upon her, like showers of Castalie.[113]

She was a favourite theme of the poets of the time, and by right divine of her sceptre and her sex, an object of glorious flattery, not always feigned, even where it was false.

She is the Gloriana of Spenser's Fairy Queen,—she is the "Cynthia, the ladye of the sea,"—she is the "Fair Vestal throned in the West," of Shakspeare—

That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not,)Flying between the cold moon and the earth,Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he tookAt a fair Vestal, throned by the West,And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaftQuench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon;And the imperial vot'ress passed onIn maiden meditation, fancy free.

And the previous allusion to Mary of Scotland, as the "Sea Maid on the Dolphin's back,"

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,That the rude sea grew civil at her song,

is not less exquisite.

It would, in truth, have been easier for Mary to have calmed the rude sea than her ruder and wilder subjects. These two queens, so strangely misplaced, seem as if, by some sport of destiny, each had dropt into the sphere designed for the other. Mary should have reigned over the Sydneys, the Essexes, the Mountjoys;—and with her smiles, and sweet words; and generous gifts, have inspired and rewarded the poets around her. Elizabeth should have been transferred to Scotland, where she might have bandied frowns and hard names with John Knox, cut off the heads of rebellious barons, and boxed the ears of ill-bred courtiers.

This is no place to settle disputed points of history, nor, if it were, should I presume to throw an opinion in to one scale or the other; but take the two queens as women merely, and with a reference to apparent circumstances, I would rather have been Mary than Elizabeth; I would rather have been Mary, with all her faults, frailties, and misfortunes,—all her power of engaging hearts,—betrayed by her own soft nature, andthe vile or fierce passions of the men around her, to die on a scaffold, with the meekness of a saint and the courage of a heroine, with those at her side who would willingly have bled for her,—than I would have been that heartless flirt, Elizabeth, surrounded by the oriental servility, the lip and knee homage of her splendid court; to die at last on her palace-floor, like a crushed wasp—sick of her own very selfishness—torpid, sullen, and despairing,—without one friend near her, without one heart in the wide world attached to her by affection or gratitude.

There is more true and earnest feeling in some little verses written by Ronsard on the unhappy Queen of Scots, than in all the elegant, fanciful, but extravagant flattery of Elizabeth's poets. After just mentioning the English Queen, whom he dispatches in a single line,—

Je vis leur belle reine, honnête et vertueuse;

he thus dwells on the charms of Mary:—

Je vis des Ecossais la Reine sage et belle,Qui de corps et d'esprits ressemble une immortelle;J'approchai de ses yeux, mais bien de deux soleils,Deux soleils de beauté, qui n'ont point leurs pareils.Je les vis larmoyer d'une claire rosée,Je vis d'un clair crystal sa paupière arrosée,Se souvenant de France, et du sceptre laissé,Et de son premier feu, comme un songe passé!

And when Mary was a prisoner, he dedicated to her a whole book of poems, in which he celebrates her with a warmth, the more delightful that it was disinterested. He thanks her for selecting his poems, to amuse her solitary hours, and adds feelingly,—

Car, je ne veux en ce monde choisirPlus grand honneur que vous donner plaisir!

Mary did not leave her courteous poet unrewarded. She contrived, though a prisoner, to send him a casket containing two thousand crowns, and a vase, on which was represented Mount Parnassus, and a flying Pegasus, with this inscription:—

A Ronsard, l'Apollon de la source des Muses.

No one understood better than Mary the value of a compliment from a beauty, and a queen; had she bestowed more precious favours with equal effect and discrimination, her memory had escaped some disparagement. Ronsard, we are told, was sufficiently a poet, to value the inscription on his vase more than the gold in the casket.

Apropos to Ronsard: the history of his loves is so whimsical and so truly French, that it must claim a place here.

Yet now I am upon French ground, I may as well take the giant's advice, and "begin at the beginning."[114]It seems at first view unaccountable that France, which has produced so many remarkable women, should scarce exhibit one poetical heroine of great or popular interest, since its language and literature assumed their present form; not one who has been rendered illustrious or dear to us by the praises of a poet lover. The celebrity of celebrated French women is, in truth, very anti-poetical. The memory of the kisswhich Marguerite d'Ecosse[115]gave to Alain Chartier, has long survived the verses he wrote in her praise. Clement Marot, the court poet of Francis the First, was the lover, or rather one of the lovers, of Diana of Poictiers (mistress to the Dauphin, afterwards Henry the Second). She was confessedly the most beautiful and the most abandoned woman of her time. Marot could hardly have expected to find her a paragon of constancy; yet he laments her fickleness, as if it had touched his heart.

Puisque de vous je n'ai autre visage,Je m'en vais rendre hermite en un desert,Pour prier Dieu, si un autre vous sert,Qu'autant que moi en votre honneur soit sage.Adieu, Amour! adieu, gentil corsage!Adieu ce teint! adieu ces friands yeux!Je n'ai pas eu de vous grand avantage,—Un moins aimant aura peut-être mieux.

Puisque de vous je n'ai autre visage,Je m'en vais rendre hermite en un desert,Pour prier Dieu, si un autre vous sert,Qu'autant que moi en votre honneur soit sage.

Adieu, Amour! adieu, gentil corsage!Adieu ce teint! adieu ces friands yeux!Je n'ai pas eu de vous grand avantage,—Un moins aimant aura peut-être mieux.

In aliaisonof mere vanity and profligacy, the transition from love (if love it be) to hatred and malignity, is not uncommon—as Spenser says so beautifully,

Such love might never long endure,However gay and goodly be the style,That doth ill cause or evil end enure:For Virtue is the band that bindeth hearts most sure!

From being the lady'slover, Marot became her satirist; instead ofchansonsin praise of her beauty, he circulated the most biting and insufferable epigrams on her person and character. We are told by one, who, I presume, speaksavec connaissance de fait, that a woman's revenge

Is like the tiger's spring,Deadly and quick, and crushing.

Diana was a libelled beauty, all powerful andunprincipled. Marot, in some moment of gaiety and overflowing confidence, had confessed to her that he had eaten meat on a "jour maigre:" he had better in those days have committed all the seven deadly sins; and when the lady revealed his unlucky confession, and denounced him as a heretic, he was immediately imprisoned. Instead, however, of being depressed by his situation, or moved to make any concessions, he published from his prison a most ludicrous lampoon on hisci-devantmistress, of which the burthen was, "Prenez le, il a mangé le lard!" He afterwards made his escape, and took refuge in the court of Renée, Duchess of Ferrara; and though subsequently recalled to France, he continued to pursue Diana with the most bitter satire, became a second time a fugitive, partly on her account, and died in exile and poverty.[116]

Marot has been called the French Chaucer. He resembles the English poet in liveliness of fancy, picturesque imagery, simplicity of expression, and satirical humour; but he has these merits in a far less degree; and in variety of genius, pathos and power, is immeasurably his inferior.

Ronsard, to whom I at length return, was the successor of Marot. In his time the Italian sonnetteers, as Petrarch, Bembo, Sanazzaro, were the prevailing models, and classical pedantry the prevailing taste. Ronsard, having filled his mind with Greek and learning, determined to be a poet,and looked about for a mistress to be the object of his songs: for a poet without a mistress was then an unheard-of anomaly. He fixed upon a beautiful woman of Blois, named Cassandre, whose Greek appellative, it is said, was her principal attraction in his fancy. To her he addressed about two hundred and twenty sonnets, in a style so lofty and pedantic, stuffed with such hard names and philosophical allusions, that the fair Cassandra must have been as wise as her namesake, the daughter of Priam, to have comprehended her own praises.

Ronsard's next love was more interesting. Her name was Marie: she was beautiful and kind: the poet really loved her; and consequently, we find him occasionally descending from his heights of affectation and scholarship, to the language of truth, nature and tenderness. Marie died young; and among Ronsard's most admired poems are two or three little pieces written after her death. As his works are not commonly met with, I give one as a specimen of his style:—

Ci reposent les os de la belle Marie,Qui me fit pour un jour quitter mon Vendomois,[117]Qui m'echauffa le sang au plus verd de mes mois;Qui fût toute mon tout, mon bien, et mon envie.En sa tombe repose honneur et courtoisie,Et la jeune beauté qu'en l'ame je sentois,Et le flambeau d'Amour, ses traits et son carquois,Et ensemble mon cœur, mes pensées et ma vie.Tu es, belle Angevine,[117]un bel astre des cieux;Les anges, tous ravis, se paissent de tes yeux,La terre te regrette, O beauté sans seconde!Maintenant tu es vive, et je suis mort d'ennui,Malheureux qui se fie en l'attente d'autrui;Trois amis m'ont trompé,—toi, l'amour, et le monde.

Ci reposent les os de la belle Marie,Qui me fit pour un jour quitter mon Vendomois,[117]Qui m'echauffa le sang au plus verd de mes mois;Qui fût toute mon tout, mon bien, et mon envie.

En sa tombe repose honneur et courtoisie,Et la jeune beauté qu'en l'ame je sentois,Et le flambeau d'Amour, ses traits et son carquois,Et ensemble mon cœur, mes pensées et ma vie.

Tu es, belle Angevine,[117]un bel astre des cieux;Les anges, tous ravis, se paissent de tes yeux,La terre te regrette, O beauté sans seconde!

Maintenant tu es vive, et je suis mort d'ennui,Malheureux qui se fie en l'attente d'autrui;Trois amis m'ont trompé,—toi, l'amour, et le monde.

Ronsard had by this time acquired a reputation which eclipsed that of all his contemporaries. He was caressed and patronised by Charles the Ninth (of hateful memory), who, like Nero, exhibited the revolting combination of a taste forpoetry and the fine arts, with the most sanguinary and depraved dispositions. Ronsard, having lost his Marie, was commanded by Catherine de' Medicis to select a mistress from among the ladies of her court, to be the future object of his tuneful homage. He politely left her Majesty to choose for him, prepared to fall in love duly at the royal behest; and Catherine pointed out Helène de Surgeres, one of her maids of honour, as worthy to be the second Laura of a second Petrarch. The docile poet, with zealous obedience, warbled the praises of Helène for the rest of his life. He also consecrated to her a fountain near his château in the Vendomois, which has popularly preserved her name and fame. It is still known as the "Fontaine d'Helène."

Helène was more witty than beautiful, and, though vain of the celebrity she had acquired in the verses of Ronsard, she either disliked him in the character of a lover, or was one of those lofty ladies

Who hate to have their dignity profanedWith any relish of an earthly thought.[118]

She desired the Cardinal du Perron would request Ronsard (in her name) to prefix an epistle to the odes and sonnets addressed to her, assuring the world that this poetical love had been purely Platonic. "Madam," said the Cardinal, "you had better give him leave to prefix your picture."[119]

I presume my fair and gentle readers (I shall have none, I am sure, who are not one or the other, or both,) are as tired as myself of all this affectation, and glad to turn from it to the interest of passion and reality.

"There is not," says Cowley, "so great a lie to be found in any poet, as the vulgar conceit of men, that lying is essential to good poetry." On the contrary, where there is not truth, there is nothing—

Rien n' est beau que le vrai,—le vrai seul est aimable!

While the Italian school of amatory verse was flourishing in France, Spain, and England, almost to the extinction of originality in this style, the brightest light of Italian poesy had arisen, and was shining with a troubled splendour over that land of song. How swiftly at the thought does imagination shoot, "like a glancing star," over the wide expanse of sea and land, and through a long interval of sad and varied years! I am again standing within the porch of the church of San Onofrio, looking down upon the little slab in its dark corner, which covers the bones ofTasso.

FOOTNOTES:[109]Died 1631[110]Died in 1619.[111]Died 1649.[112]Leicester's influence over Elizabeth appeared so unaccountable, that it was ascribed to magic, and to her evil stars.[113]Spenser's Daphnaida.[114]Bélier, mon ami! Commencez par le commencement!count hamilton.[115]"La gentille Marguerite," the unhappy wife of Louis the Eleventh. Beautiful, accomplished, and in the very spring of life, she died a victim to the detestable character of her husband. When one of her attendants spoke of hope and life, the Queen, turning from her with an expression of deep disgust, exclaimed with a last effort, "Fi de la vie! ne m'en parlez plus!"—and expired.[116]At Althorp, the seat of Lord Spenser, there is a most curious picture of Diana of Poictiers, once in the Crawford collection: it is a small half-length; the features are fair and regular; the hair is elaborately dressed with a profusion of jewels; but there is no drapery whatever, except a curtain behind: round the head is the legend from the forty-second Psalm,—"Comme le cerf braie après le décours des eaues, ainsi brait mon âme après toi, O Dieu!" which is certainly a most extraordinary and profane application. In the days of Diana of Poictiers, Marot had composed a version of the Psalms, then very popular. It was the fashion to sing them to dance and song tunes; and the courtiers and beauties had each their favourite psalm, which served as a kind ofdevise. This may explain the very singular inscription on this very singular picture.[117]Ronsard was a native of the Vendomois, and Marie, of Anjou.[118]Ben Jonson.[119]V. Bayle Dictionnaire Historique.—Pierre de Ronsard was born in 1524, and died in 1585.

[109]Died 1631

[110]Died in 1619.

[111]Died 1649.

[112]Leicester's influence over Elizabeth appeared so unaccountable, that it was ascribed to magic, and to her evil stars.

[113]Spenser's Daphnaida.

[114]Bélier, mon ami! Commencez par le commencement!count hamilton.

[114]

Bélier, mon ami! Commencez par le commencement!count hamilton.

[115]"La gentille Marguerite," the unhappy wife of Louis the Eleventh. Beautiful, accomplished, and in the very spring of life, she died a victim to the detestable character of her husband. When one of her attendants spoke of hope and life, the Queen, turning from her with an expression of deep disgust, exclaimed with a last effort, "Fi de la vie! ne m'en parlez plus!"—and expired.

[116]At Althorp, the seat of Lord Spenser, there is a most curious picture of Diana of Poictiers, once in the Crawford collection: it is a small half-length; the features are fair and regular; the hair is elaborately dressed with a profusion of jewels; but there is no drapery whatever, except a curtain behind: round the head is the legend from the forty-second Psalm,—"Comme le cerf braie après le décours des eaues, ainsi brait mon âme après toi, O Dieu!" which is certainly a most extraordinary and profane application. In the days of Diana of Poictiers, Marot had composed a version of the Psalms, then very popular. It was the fashion to sing them to dance and song tunes; and the courtiers and beauties had each their favourite psalm, which served as a kind ofdevise. This may explain the very singular inscription on this very singular picture.

[117]Ronsard was a native of the Vendomois, and Marie, of Anjou.

[118]Ben Jonson.

[119]V. Bayle Dictionnaire Historique.—Pierre de Ronsard was born in 1524, and died in 1585.

Leonora d'Este, a princess of the proudest house in Europe, might have wedded an emperor, and have been forgotten. The idea, true or false, that she it was who broke the heart and frenzied the brain of Tasso, has glorified her to future ages; has given her a fame, something like that of the Greek of old, who bequeathed his name to immortality, by firing the grandest temple of the universe.

The question of Tasso's attachment to the Princess Leonora, is, I believe, set at rest by the acute researches and judicious reasoning of M. Ginguené, and those who have followed in hissteps. A body of circumstantial evidence has been collected, which would not only satisfy a court of love—but a court of law, with a Lord Chancellor, to boot, "perpending" at the head of it. That which was once regarded as a romance, which we wished to believe, if wecould, is now an established fact, which we cannot disbelieve if we would.

No poet perhaps ever owed so much to female influence as Tasso, or wrote so much under the intoxicating inspiration of love and beauty. He paid most dearly for such inspiration; and yet nottoodearly. The high tone of sentiment, the tenderness, and the delicacy which pervade all his poems, which prevail even in his most voluptuous descriptions, and which give him such a decided superiority over Ariosto, cannot be owing to any change of manners or increase of refinement produced by the lapse of a few years. It may be traced to the tender influence of two elegant women. He for many years read the cantos of the Gerusalemme, as he composed them, to the Princesses Lucretia and Leonora, both of whom he admired—one of whom he adored.

Au reste—the kiss, which he is said to have imprinted on the lips of Leonora in a transportof frenzy, as well as the idea that she was the primary cause of his insanity, and of his seven years' imprisonment at St. Anne's, rest on no authority worthy of credit; yet it is not less certain that she was the object of his secret and fervent admiration, and that this hopeless passion conspired, with many other causes, to fever his irritable temperament and unsettle his imagination, beyond that "fine madness," which we are toldought"to possess the poet's brain."

When Tasso first visited Ferrara, in 1565, he was just one-and-twenty, with all the advantages which a fine countenance, a majestic figure, (for he was tall even among the tallest,) noble birth, and excelling talents could bestow: he was already distinguished as the author of the Rinaldo, his earliest poem, in which he had celebrated (as if prophetically,) the Princesses d'Este—and chiefly Leonora.

Lucrezia Estense, e l'altra i cui crin d'oro,Lacci e reti saran del casto amore.[120]

When Tasso was first introduced to her in her brother's court, Leonora was in her thirtieth year; a disparity of age which is certainly no argument against the passion she inspired. For a young man, at his first entrance into life, to fall in love ambitiously—with a woman, for instance, who is older than himself, or with one who is, or ought to be, unattainable—is a common occurrence. Tasso, from his boyish years, had been the sworn servant of beauty. He tells us, in grave prose, "che la sua giovanezza fu tutta sotto-posta all' amorose leggi;"[121]but he was also refined, even to fastidiousness, in his intercourse with women. He had formed, in his own poetical mind, the most exalted idea of what a female ought to be, and unfortunately, she who first realised all his dreams of perfection, was a Princess—"there seated where he durst not soar." Leonora was still eminently lovely, in that soft, artless, unobtrusive style of beauty, which is charming initself, and in a princess irresistible, from its contrast with the loftiness of her station and the trappings of her rank. Her complexion was extremely fair; her features small and regular; and the form of her head peculiarly graceful, if I may judge from a fine medallion I once saw of her in Italy. Ill health, and her early acquaintance with the sorrows of her unfortunate mother, had given to her countenance a languid and pensive cast, and sicklied all the natural bloom of her complexion; but "Paleur, qui marque une ame tendre, a bien son prix:" so Tasso thought; and this "vago Pallore," which "vanquishes the rose, and makes the dawn ashamed of her blushes," he has frequently and beautifully celebrated; as in the pretty Madrigal—

Vita della mia Vita!O Rosa scolorita!&c.

and in those graceful lines,

Languidetta beltà vinceva amore, &c.

applicable only to Leonora. Her eyes were blue; her mouth of peculiar beauty, both in form andexpression. In the seventh Sonnet, "Bella è la donna mia," he says it was the most lovely feature in her face; in another, still finer,[122]he styles this exquisite mouth "a crimson shell"—

Purpurea conca, in cui si nutreCandor di perle elette e pellegrine;

and he concludes it with one of those disguises under which he was accustomed to conceal Leonora's name.

E di sì degno cor tuo strale onora.

She was negligent in her dress, and studious and retired in her habits, seldom joining in the amusements of her brother's court, then the gayest and most magnificent in Italy.[123]Her accomplished and unhappy mother, Renée of France,[124]had early instilled into her mind a love of literature, and especially of poetry. She was passionately fond of music, and sang admirably. One of Tasso's most beautiful sonnets was composed on some occasion when her physician had forbidden her to sing. He who had so often felt the magic of that enchanting voice, thus describes its power and laments his loss:—

Ahi, ben è reo destin, ch' invidia, e toglieAlmondo il suon de' vostri chiari accenti,Onde addivien che le terrene gentiDe' maggior pregi, impoverisca e spoglie.Ch' ogni nebbia mortal, che 'l senso accoglie,Sgombrar potea dalle più fosche mentiL' armonìa dolce, e bei pensieri ardentiSpirar d' onore, e pure e nobil voglie.Ma non si merta qui forse cotanto;E basta ben che i sereni occhi, e 'l risoN' infiammin d' un piacer celeste e santo.Nulla fora più bello il Paradiso,Se 'l mondo udisse, in voi d' angelo il canto,Siccome vede in voi d' angelo il viso.

Ahi, ben è reo destin, ch' invidia, e toglieAlmondo il suon de' vostri chiari accenti,Onde addivien che le terrene gentiDe' maggior pregi, impoverisca e spoglie.

Ch' ogni nebbia mortal, che 'l senso accoglie,Sgombrar potea dalle più fosche mentiL' armonìa dolce, e bei pensieri ardentiSpirar d' onore, e pure e nobil voglie.

Ma non si merta qui forse cotanto;E basta ben che i sereni occhi, e 'l risoN' infiammin d' un piacer celeste e santo.

Nulla fora più bello il Paradiso,Se 'l mondo udisse, in voi d' angelo il canto,Siccome vede in voi d' angelo il viso.

"O cruel—O envious destiny, that hast deprived the world of those delicious accents, that hast made earth poor in what was dearest and sweetest! No cloud ever gathered over the gloomiest mind, which the melody of that voice could not disperse; it breathed but to inspire noble thoughts and chaste desires.—But, no! it was more than mortals could deserve to possess. Those soft eyes, that smile were enough to inspire a sacred and sweet delight.—Nor would Paradise any longer excel this earth, if in your voice we heard an angel sing, as we behold an angel's beauty in your face!"

Leonora, to a sweet-toned voice, added a gift, which, unless thus accompanied, loses half its value, and almost all its charm—she spoke well; and her eloquence was so persuasive, that we are told she had power to move her brother Alphonso, when none else could. Tasso says most poetically,

E l'aura del parlar cortese e saggio,Fra le rose spirar, s'udia sovente;

—meaning—for to translate literally is scarce possible,—that"eloquence played round her lips, like the zephyr breathing over roses."

"I (he adds), beholding a celestial beauty walk the earth, closed my eyes in terror, exclaiming, O rashness! O folly! for any to dare to gaze on such charms! Alas! I quickly perceived that this was my least peril. My heart was touched through my ears; her gentle wisdom penetrated deeper than her beauty could reach."

With what emotions must a young and ardent poet have listened to his own praises from a beautiful mouth, thus sweetly gifted! and it may be added, that Leonora's eloquence, and the influence she possessed over her brother, were ever employed in behalf of the deserving and unfortunate. The good people of Ferrara had such an exalted idea of her piety and benevolence, that when an earthquake caused a terrible innundation of the Po, and the destruction of the surrounding villages, they attributed the safety of their city entirely to her prayers and intercession.

Leonora then was not unworthy of her illustrious conquest, either in person, heart, or mind.To be summoned daily into the presence of a Princess thus beautiful and amiable, to read aloud his verses to her, to hear his own praises from her lips, to bask in her approving smiles, to associate with her in her retirement, to behold her in all the graceful simplicity of her familiar life,—was a dangerous situation for Tasso, and surely not less so for Leonora herself. That she was aware of his admiration, and perfectly understood his sentiments, and that a mysterious intelligence existed between them, consistent with the utmost reverence on his part, and the most perfect delicacy and dignity on hers, is apparent from the meaning and tendency of innumerable passages scattered through his minor poems—too significant in their application to be mistaken. Though that application be not avowed, and even disguised—the very disguise, when once detected, points to the object. Leonora knew, as well as her lover, that a Princess "was no love-mate for a bard." She knew far better than her lover, untilhetoo had been taught by wretched experience, the haughty and implacable temper of her brotherAlphonso, who never was known to brook an injury or forgive an offender. She must have remembered too well the twelve years' imprisonment and the narrow escape from death, of her unfortunate mother for a less cause. She was of a timid and reserved nature, increased by the extreme delicacy of her constitution. Her hand had frequently been sought by princes and nobles, whom she had uniformly rejected, at the risk of displeasing her brother; and the eyes of a jealous court were upon her. Tasso, on the other hand, was imprudent, hot-headed, fearless, ardently attached. For both their sakes, it was necessary for Leonora to be guarded and reserved, unless she would have made herself the fable of all Italy. And in what glowing verse has Tasso described all the delicious pain of such a situation! now proud of his fetters, now execrating them in despair. In allusion to his ambitious passion, he is Phaeton, Icarus, Tantalus, Ixion.

Se d' Icàro leggesti c di Fetonte, &c.

But though presumption flung to ruin Icarusand Phaeton, did not the power of love bring even Dian down "from her amazing height?"

E che non puoteAmor, che con catena il ciel unisce?Egli già trae delle celeste roteDi terrana beltà Diana accesa,E d'Ida il bel Fanciul[125]al' ciel rapisce.

This at least isclearlysignificant, however poetical the allusions; but what a world of passion and of meaning breathes through the Sonnet which he has entitled "The constrained Silence," ("Il Silenzio Imposto.")

"She is content that I should love her; yet, O what hard restraint of galling silence has she imposed!"

Vuol che l' ami costei; ma duro frenoMi pone ancor d' aspro silenzio; or qualeAvrò da lei, se non conosce il maleO medecina, o refrigerio almeno?....*....*....*....*Tacer ben posso, e tacerò! ch' io togliaSangue alle piaghe, e luce al vivo focoNon brami già; questa e impossibil vogliaTroppo spinse pungenti a dentro i colpi,E troppo ardore accolse in picciol loco:S' apparirà, natura, e sè n' incolpi.[126]

Vuol che l' ami costei; ma duro frenoMi pone ancor d' aspro silenzio; or qualeAvrò da lei, se non conosce il maleO medecina, o refrigerio almeno?

....*....*....*....*

Tacer ben posso, e tacerò! ch' io togliaSangue alle piaghe, e luce al vivo focoNon brami già; questa e impossibil vogliaTroppo spinse pungenti a dentro i colpi,E troppo ardore accolse in picciol loco:S' apparirà, natura, e sè n' incolpi.[126]

"Yes, I can, I will keep silence; but to command that the wound shall not bleed nor the fire burn, is to command impossibility. Too, too deep hath the blow been struck; too ardently glows the flame; and if betrayed, the fault is in nature—not in me!"

And again, what can be more exquisitely tender, more beautiful in its fervent simplicity of expression, than the effusion which follows? How miserably does an inadequate prose translation halt after the glowing poetry, the rhythmical music, the "linked sweetness" of the original!

Io non cedo in amar, Donna gentileA' chi mostra di fuor l' interno affetto;Perchè 'l mio si nasconda in mezzo 'l petto,Nè co' fior s' apra del mio nuovo Aprile,Co' vaghi sguardi, e col sembiante umile,Co' detti sparsi in variando aspettoAltri si veggia al vostro amor soggetto,E co' sospiri, e con leggiadro stile.E quando gela il cielo, e quando infiamma,E quando parte il sole, e quando riede,Vi segua; come il can selvaggia damma.Ch' io se nel cor vi cerco, altri noi vede,E sol mi vanto di nascosa fiamma,E sol mi glorio di secreta fede.[127]

E quando gela il cielo, e quando infiamma,E quando parte il sole, e quando riede,Vi segua; come il can selvaggia damma.

Ch' io se nel cor vi cerco, altri noi vede,E sol mi vanto di nascosa fiamma,E sol mi glorio di secreta fede.[127]

"I yield not in love, O gentlest lady! to those who dare to show their love more openly, though I conceal it within the centre of my heart, nor suffer it to spread forth, like the other flowers of my spring. Let others boast themselves subjects of love for your sake, and slaves of your beauty, with admiring looks, with humble aspect, with sighs, with eloquent words, with lofty verse! whether the winter freeze or the summer burn,—at set of sun, and when he laughs again in heaven, let them still pursue you, as dogs the shy and timid deer. But I—O, I seek you in my own heart, where none else behold you! My hiddenlove be my only boast: my secret faith, my only glory!"

Without multiplying quotations, which would extend this sketch from pages into volumes, it is sufficient to trace through Tasso's verses the little incidents which varied this romantic intercourse. The frequent indisposition of Leonora, her absence when she went to visit her brother, the Cardinal d'Este, at Tivoli, form the subjects of several beautiful little poems; as the Sonnets

Dianzi al vostro languir, &c.Donna! poichè fortuna empia mi negaSeguirvi, &c.Al nobil colle, ove in antichi marmiDi Greco mano opre famose ammiraVagaLeonorail mio pensier mi gira.

Dianzi al vostro languir, &c.

Donna! poichè fortuna empia mi negaSeguirvi, &c.

Al nobil colle, ove in antichi marmiDi Greco mano opre famose ammiraVagaLeonorail mio pensier mi gira.

Here he names her expressly; while in the little lament—

Lunge da voi, ben mio!Non ho vita ne core! e non son ioNon sono, oimè! non sonoQuel ch' altra volta fui, ma un Ombra mesta,Un lagrimevol suono, &c.

—the tone is too passionate to allow of it. He finds her looking up one night at the stars; it is sufficient to inspire that beautiful little song,

Mentre, mia stella, miriI bei celesti giri,Il cielo esser vorrei,Perchè negli occhi miciFiso tu rivolgessiLe tue dolci faville;Io vagheggiar potessiMille bellezze tue, con luci mille![128]

He relates, in another little madrigal, that standing alone with her in a balcony, he chanced, perhaps in the eagerness of conversation, to extend his arm on hers. He asks pardon for the freedom, and she replies with sweetness, "You offended not by placing your arm there, but by withdrawing it." This little speech in a coquette would have beensans consequence; fromsuch a woman as Leonora, it spoke volumes; and her lover felt it so. He breaks forth in a rapture at the tender condescension,

O parolette amorose, &c.

Then comes a cloud, but whether of temper or jealousy, we know not. One of those luckless trifles, perhaps,

—that moveDissension between hearts that love.

Tasso accompanied Lucrezia d'Este, then Duchess of Urbino, to her villa of Castel Durante, where he remained for some time, partaking in all the amusements of her gay court, without once seeing Leonora. He then wrote to her, and the letter fortunately has been preserved entire.

Though guarded in expression, it is throughout in the tone of a lover piqued, and yet conscious that he has himself offended; and seeking, with a sort of proud humility, the reconciliation on which his happiness depends. He sends her a sonnet, which he admits is "far unlike the elegant effusions he supposes her now in the habit of receiving."He begs to assure her, that though it be in art and wit as poor as he is himself in happiness, yet in his present pitiable condition, he could do no better; (not that he was to all appearance so very much to be pitied). He adds, "do not think, however, that in this vacancy of thought, my heart has found leisure for love. The Sonnet is merely composed at the request of a certain poor lover, who has for some time past quarrelled with his mistress; and now no longer able to endure his hard fortune, is obliged to yield, and sue for grace and pardon." "Il quale essendo stato un pezzo in colera con la sua donna, ora non potendo più, bisogna che si renda e che dimanda mercè." The Sonnet enclosed in this letter, ("Sdegno, debil Guerrier,") appears to me one of the least pleasing in the collection; as if his genius and his feelings were both under some benumbing influence when he wrote it.

In the meanwhile, there was a report that Leonora was about to be united to a foreign Prince. Her hand had been demanded of her brother withthe usual formalities. On this occasion Tasso wrote the fine Canzone,

Amor, tu vedi, e non hai duolo o sdegno, &c.

"Love! canst thou look on without grief or indignation, to see my gentle lady bow her fair neck to the yoke of another?"

The expression in the 6th strophe is very unequivocal—

"Nor let my mistress, though she suffer her bosom to be invaded by a newer flame, forget theformerbond."

Nè la mia Donna, perchè scaldi il pettoDi nuovo amore, nodoanticosprezzi.

In one of his Sonnets, this jealous pain is yet more strongly expressed:—

Io sparso, ed altri miete! &c.

"I sow, another reaps! I water a lovely blossom, unworthy, alas! to tend it; and another gathers the fruit. O rage!—yet must I, through coward fear, lock my grief within my own bosom!" &c.

This intended marriage never took place; andTasso, relieved from his fears, and restored to the confidence of Leonora, was again comparatively blessed. He sometimes ventured to name her openly in his poems,—as in the little Madrigal,

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